


The Nuances of Friendship

by warriorlid14



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Harry Potter is a Good Friend, Hurt/Comfort, I'll update the tags as I go, Lots of Angst, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Underage Drinking, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2020-07-12 11:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warriorlid14/pseuds/warriorlid14
Summary: "And it had been Ron who had joked and laughed and nudged him and stubbornly knocked down his walls and dragged him out of his shell and shown him what family and friendship were." Harry and Ron friendship moments throughout the series. Ch. 7 The Poisoned Mead: Missing scene after Ron's poisoning.





	1. First Words

**Author's Note:**

> All of these are varying degrees of length and not in chronological order.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry hears "I love you" for the first time.

The first time someone told Harry that they loved him, at least as far as he could remember, he was eleven years and nine months old. If he had been holding anything other than his pillow at the time, it certainly would have broken when he dropped it in shock. 

Harry had been making his bed then, which really meant that he was placing his sheets back on his bed after they ended up halfway on the floor in the middle of the night. Ron had been rummaging through his trunk all the while ranting about his previous night’s detention with Professor Snape.

“So then, the slimy son of a- ew, what is this- oh. Melted chocolate. That’s great.” He pulled out a wrinkled pair of pants and glared at the very sticky brown blotch on its right pocket. Harry snickered. Ron tossed them aside, paused, and then asked, “What was I looking for again?”

“Your socks, Ron.”

“Oh right.” Harry rolled his eyes and peeled his own pair of (dirty) socks from his bed to throw them into his trunk.

“So, anyway,” Ron continued. “He made me clean out all the empty cauldrons and the underside of every table in his room. Without magic! It would have taken him two seconds to clean that up with his wand. Instead, it took me half an hour to scrape off all the gum from one table.”

“Well, then maybe you shouldn’t have poured your drink on Malfoy in front of him,” Harry said fondly despite the reprimanding words.

Ron looked up to flash him a grin. “Worth it.”

The previous day during lunch Malfoy had made a detour to the Gryffindor table at the Great Hall and began mocking Ron for his too-short robes. Ron hadn’t even bothered to look back at him, merely making a rude hand-gesture over his shoulder. When Malfoy turned his attention to Harry, however, Ron had turned around and poured his full-to-the-brim glass of orange juice on his head. Before anyone had even started to laugh, Snape had already deducted ten points from Gryffindor and had given Ron a detention.

Harry smiled at the memory of Draco’s now yellow-tinted shirt and picked up his pillow from the ground. He looked up at Ron and said, “Seriously, though, he’s not worth your trouble. Don’t be stupid.” What he really meant to say was “I’m not worth your trouble”, but he’d never say that out loud. Ron had been defending him, after all.

Ron looked up, rolled his eyes at him, and continued rummaging through his trunk. And then, without even glancing up at Harry, he said “Yeah, well, I love you too,” as if those weren’t one of the most momentous words Harry had ever heard.

Harry dropped the pillow. Ron kept talking, not noticing Harry’s wide eyes or that his jaw had dropped open for a solid three seconds because  _ what _ ? He  _ what _ ? Who  _ said  _ things like that so casually? Was it a best friend thing? Harry didn’t know. He’d never had someone to call a friend before, let alone a best friend. Hermione had never told him or Ron that she loved them though. 

_ He probably didn’t mean it _ , Harry thought to himself. It was just a thing you said. Just a retort. But then Ron shouted “aha!” and triumphantly pulled out a pair of crumpled out socks from his trunk that were, presumably, clean. “Now we can go have breakfast! I am starv- everything okay?” Ron was now looking up at him quizzically. Harry broke out of his trance, and nodded.

“Well let’s go eat!” Ron came over and threw an arm around his shoulder. “You’ll be a scrawny git forever if you don’t get proper nutrition,” he said with a smile in a tone Harry had taken a while to accept was affectionate. Harry grinned and shoved him aside.

Maybe it was just a Ron thing, he thought as they made their way down to the Great Hall, Ron dramatically recounting the horrors he endured during detention. Ron, who was the type to befriend lonely boys and stand up for them against his most privileged of peers. Ron who was the type to follow an eleven year old to potentially fight a troll. Ron, who had owled his mom to make Harry a Weasley jumper to prevent him from feeling left out at Christmas. Ron who wasn’t afraid to show casual affection despite Harry’s lack of reciprocation and who was the only person Harry didn’t stiffen with if touched. 

Harry didn’t know if Ron had meant what he said, but he could not wipe his smile off his face for the rest of the day.


	2. After the Fact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ron talk after Sirius' death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was only supposed to be 2k words long. Oops.

They sat on the floor, leaning against Ron’s bed, arms pressed against each other, passing the bottle back and forth. There was the occasional cough when one of them drank a little too much or a little too fast. Harry didn’t know where he’d gotten the bottle, and Ron didn’t offer an explanation, so they sat quietly, both lost in thought.

It wasn’t the first time Ron had woken him from a nightmare, not by a long shot, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But it wasn’t lost on Harry the fact that he hadn’t been too far into the nightmare before being woken, or the fact that he was sure he hadn’t screamed. He also didn’t miss the dark circles under Ron’s eyes or that he was a little too eager to tip back the bottle, more eager than he’d be if he was simply drinking to accompany Harry. 

Ron had been awake long before waking Harry from his nightmare.

So they drank in amicable silence, only ever moving when one of them had to run to the loo. They were almost a fourth of the way through the bottle before Ron broke the silence. “I know that-” he paused, gathering his thoughts. His voice was tentative, quiet, as if he wasn’t sure he should be speaking. “I know that I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve never lost anyone the way that you have. But you  _ can  _ talk to me, you know. I’d listen. I’d try to understand.”

Ron had shifted, and without glancing up, Harry knew that he was looking at him, searching for a sign of what he was thinking. But Harry simply nodded and took another swig of the bottle. “I know,” he said, coughing through his words. His eyes stung and Harry desperately hoped that Ron knew the tears were because the drink had gone down the wrong pipe. He cleared his throat, then said, “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Ron opened his mouth to say something else, but a quick glance from Harry had him closing it. He nodded instead, then said, “Okay.”

And it wasn’t that he didn’t think Ron would get it. Well, okay, maybe a little bit. Because how could he explain to someone who was surrounded by a family who loved him what it was like to lose a parental figure for the  _ third fucking time _ . And sure, he didn’t exactly remember what it was like to lose his parents, but to finally have someone that resembled one, that loved him and wanted to care for him and who Harry actually  _ trusted,  _ and to see them murdered in front of your eyes… Well, Harry sure as hell hoped Ron never knew what that was like. But still, he knew that Ron would listen and try his best to understand and not judge him if he cried and do whatever he could to help because Ron was a good friend. A pretty damn great friend. And Harry trusted Ron more than anyone else in the world along with Hermione. But, well, if he started talking now… If he started crying… He wasn’t sure when he would stop. And there was a war looming over them and how could Harry win a war, protect those he loved, if he was too overcome with grief and loss to fight? He couldn’t fall apart. Not yet.

So instead, he’d get drunk with his best friend and laugh at his stupid jokes and play Quidditch with the Weasleys and affectionately roll his eyes at Hermione when she nagged about homework and share an exasperated look with Ginny whenever Hermione and Ron bickered and plot ways to kill Umbridge and Snape with Ron and the twins and get drunk with his best friend again whenever he felt the dark claws of hatred and grief and anger and pain tear at his insides and all he wanted to do was scream.

Harry took another swig.

Eventually, though, his head started to feel fuzzy. And he leaned against Ron a little more than he should. But it was obviously because they were best friends and because he was secure in his masculinity and  _ not  _ because the world was spinning a bit. Right.

But it was because he was suddenly so close that he could so clearly see the silver scars that inched underneath a tear in the jumper that Ron had been so keen on wearing after the Department of Mysteries despite it being summer. And it was probably because Ron was also feeling the effects of the alcohol that he began mindlessly scratching his scars underneath his jumper. Harry had rarely seen him do this before, but only because the instant Ron realized Harry was watching him, he’d immediately stop, blushing a bit. And he’d heard Mrs. Weasley reprimand him a few times for scratching and he’d mutter an apology, not meeting Harry’s eyes afterwards.

They hadn’t talked about the Department of Mysteries at all besides making sure the other was alive and well. They hadn’t discussed the brains that had attacked Ron and that was probably because Harry couldn’t stand to even think about the fact without feeling a rush of guilt at having needlessly scarred his friend for life.

And again, Harry blamed it on the alcohol, because without even realizing he had until the words were out of his mouth, he asked “Does it hurt?”

Immediately, Ron retrieved his hand and despite the darkness of the room, Harry saw a faint flush travelling up his cheeks. “What?”

“Your scars. Do they hurt?”

“No,” Ron said far too quickly for it to be the truth, and he must’ve known that he was caught in a lie because he blushed again and then said, “They... sting sometimes, but I have potions for that. They mostly just… itch every once in a while, but it’s fine.” 

There was that familiar churning of guilt because Ron wouldn’t be taking potions if the scars just stung. And Ron hadn’t been sleeping well, either. So, knowing he was treading on uncharted territory but fully not giving a shit anymore, he asked, “Do you have nightmares about that night?”

He didn’t answer for a second, so Harry looked up to meet his eyes and he knew Ron well enough to know that that look meant he was considering whether he should lie or not, but he conceded, saying, “Once in a while,” and Harry must have looked guilty at the confirmation, because Ron immediately rushed to say “But they’re not horrible or anything. Just… I can handle it. I’m  _ fine,  _ Harry. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Harry felt a flare annoyance and was ready to snap back that he didn’t have to lie, that he didn’t have to pretend to be okay to appease Harry, that wasn’t it a bit hypocritical of him to expect him to talk about what happened, when he didn’t have the courtesy to do the same? But instead, all that came out of his mouth after brooding in silence for a few minutes, after Ron had awkwardly tipped the bottle back two more times was, “I’m sorry.”

Ron blinked. “What for?”

Harry pulled away from him and gave him an incredulous look. “For dragging you into this shit with me. For giving you nightmares. For almost killing you!” Harry was growing steadily louder with each new declaration, and he was glad that Ron’s room was on the top floor and they were less likely to be heard. “For- for this!” He reached out, grabbed Ron’s arm eliciting a yelp from Ron as Harry pulled up the sleeve of his jumper, revealing thick, silver scars, winding up his arm so far up that Harry was sure they reached his shoulder, which he would know for sure if Ron wasn’t  _ suddenly  _ shy about changing in front of him in a way that reminded him of their first year when it was Harry who didn’t want his bruises and thinness on display, back when he barely even trusted Ron to hug him, to talk to him. And it had been Ron who had joked and laughed and nudged him and stubbornly knocked down his walls and dragged him out of his shell and shown him what family and friendship was. And now it was Ron who was hiding, who had been hurt because of  _ him  _ and he wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. So instead he took another swig.

Ron angrily pulled down his sleeve and glared at him. “I’m sorry, I may be recalling the events that happened incorrectly, but did you hold me at wand-point and force me to go?”

Harry glared right back. “No, but-”

“Still talking,” Ron interrupted, holding up his hand. And he would’ve looked more stern if he hadn’t slurred that last word. Still, he barreled on. “Cuz I seem to remember going out of my own free will. And anyway, it was me who summoned the brains, so if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“Because you were attacked by a death eater!”

“Yeah, and who was stupid enough to get hit by that spell? Me, not you.”

Harry shook his head. He knew the drinks were getting to his brain, but he was sure that that line of logic didn’t make sense at all. “It’s a death eater, Ron! And there was more than one! And you were also trying to protect Ginny and Luna!”

“Fine! Then we should blame the death eaters!” 

Harry fell back against Ron, too tired to argue. 

“I still shouldn’t have taken you with me.” 

Maybe not.

“Oi! I just said that was my choice.”

Harry pulled away again and glared at him. “Well, you should’ve just left me go on my own then!” Because wasn’t that the issue? Him leading people to their deaths? His bad choices getting people he loved killed?

Ron angrily rolled his eyes at him, then for good measure, angrily took a swig of the bottle. “Shut up, Harry,” he coughed. “What was I supposed to do? Let you possibly be killed on your own?"

"Yes!"

"Shut up," he repeated, glaring down at Harry, but his eyes were a little unfocused. "We both know I’d jump in front of the killing curse for you if necessary.” And  _ that,  _ Harry was fairly certain, was only vocalized because of the drink in his hand.

Harry gaped at him, his blood turning to ice because that was the last thing he wanted to hear. “What the fu- why would you-” Words seemed to escape him, and it had nothing to do with being tipsy. “Why the hell would it even be necessary? My life is not more important than yours, Ron!” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, not entirely, but crying  _ please, please, please don’t ever die for me  _ didn’t seem like the appropriate response.

“Sure it is.” And he said it so nonchalantly, without even sparing a glance at him, that Harry felt sick. Because didn’t he get it? That him dying, that Hermione dying, would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to him?

So he lashed out. “Why? Because of the stupid prophecy?”

“No you daft pillock, because you’re my best friend and I love you.” He didn’t even blush when he said it, which Harry took to mean that he’d  _ definitely, for sure _ had too much to drink. He took the bottle away from Ron. He didn't doubt Ron's words, it'd be stupid to, really, with all they'd been through. But well, neither of them had ever been the type to openly and explicitly put their feelings into words. Not really. “And, you know, the whole Chosen One thing is just an added bonus.”

He put the bottle down, not wanting to drink anymore as he was already feeling very lightheaded and he didn’t want to be absolutely shit faced for this conversation. Or, well, he did, but he probably shouldn’t be. His best friend had just told him that he’d die for him and that he loved him and admittedly, it wasn’t the first time he said the latter (or the second or the third), but it was the first time he’d said it seriously and not in a flippant “you’re an idiot” “yeah, I love you too” kind of way. So it probably warranted some level of sobriety. But instead of acknowledging that, because of course Harry loved him too, the thing he’d miss the most and all after all, but he didn’t have much of a response beyond the aforementioned  _ please, please, please don’t ever die for me _ , so he said, “So you believe it, huh?”

“What?”

“The prophecy.”

“Oh.” He paused for a second, then said, “I mean, I don’t know much about prophecies. They mostly come true. Although not always in the way you’d think they would. Kinda like…” He paused again, tapped his fingers against the floor in a way that let Harry know he was concentrating. “Yeah, no, I can’t think of an example right now. But they don’t always turn out the way you think they will even if they  _ technically  _ become true.”

Harry nodded. “Like a genie.”

“What?”

“A genie.”

“What’s Ginny gotta do with this?”

Harry couldn’t help but break out into giggles, spurred on by Ron’s look of confusion. “Sorry, sorry, continue.”

Ron shook his head in mild amusement. “What was I saying? Yeah, okay, prophecies. Sometimes they don’t come true at all because the future is not prede- predetermined.” He slurred the last word, then said “It’s not set in stone. So you can change them.” He nodded then, looking a little proud of himself for managing to finish his speech on prophecies.

“So what does this have to do with mine?”

“Right! So I reckon with yours, I don’t know, maybe you’re not the only one who  _ can _ defeat You-Know-Who, but you’re the one who  _ will _ .”

Harry nodded, and looked down at his lap. Began playing with the hem of his shirt. “So you really think I can beat him?” The words came out in the same quiet, tentative voice Ron had used earlier.

“Of course, mate!” He clapped him on the back. “And it’s not like you wouldn’t have help, eh? I mean, you have us, right? Me and Hermione. And my family and Dumbledore and the rest of the Order. So you’d  _ never  _ be alone. And anyway, I figure it’s just a matter of proba- probabi-” He cursed under his breath and Harry giggling again. “Numbers. It’s a matter of numbers. He’s tried to kill you so many times that at some point you’re bound to get a lucky shot.”

Harry nodded and reached over and took a sip from the bottle. Then he let out a small “oops” when he remembered he wasn’t supposed to drink anymore. Ron, however, had made no such promise and shamelessly chugged a bit of the bottle before setting it down a little too harshly, spilling some of its contents. 

“Ron?” he said, after a bit of silence. (And another two large sips,  _ oops _ ).

“Yeah?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah.”

Harry took a breath. “So don’t… Don’t die, alright? Not for me. I don’t care what the prophecy says.” It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say and definitely not as eloquently as it’d ought to be said. But then, he didn’t know exactly  _ what _ he wanted to say. How could he encompass five years of friendship and loyalty and laughter and hardships, and how could he possibly vocalize how much he would be torn apart to lose it all? It was too horrible to consider, the mere thought almost bringing a lump in his throat.

No. That was an actual lump. Harry took the bottle again, to wash it down before Ron noticed he had choked up.

He didn’t, but he did take a full minute before saying, “Harry, you swam to the bottom of a lake for me, and almost  _ drowned _ , and I know for a fact that you’re a shitty ass swimmer-” Harry let out a  _ hey _ in protest. “But you went anyway. And you chased after me into the shrieking shack when you thought a serial killer had captured me. It works both ways, mate. You can’t just-” he paused, seemingly having trouble putting his thoughts into words. “You can’t just put your ass on the line for someone and then get offended when they do the same.”

“Yeah, but you- The chess set. And the acromantulas. And the only reason I had to chase after you was because you pushed me aside. And then you stood in front of me, on a broken leg, and said he’d have to get through you first. And the Department of Mysteries!”

Ron shrugged. “Works both ways,” he repeated.

“ _ Ron _ .” Despite the drinking, he still had the good sense not to bang his hand on the floor in frustration. But that just made the desperation in the pit of his stomach even worse. “Don’t you get it? I’m always going to put you in more danger than you could possibly put me in!”

“So what do I do, Harry?” Ron hissed. “Throw you out? Let you face all that shit on your own? That’s not-” Ron ran a hand through his hair. He could see the anger in his eyes, but also a little bit of desperation as well. “It sucks. I know it does. I get that. Or, well, maybe I don’t, but I  _ do  _ know what it’s like to be forced to sit back and watch as your best friend gets thrown into danger  _ every fucking year _ and not be able to do a thing about it and that  _ sucks _ .” … And Harry supposed he hadn’t really thought about it that way, too busy trying to survive to think about how worried his friends would be. “So if every once in a while I can take some of that danger for myself-” He shrugged, and he wasn’t looking at Harry anymore. “I’ll take it. Gladly. It’s just what happens when you care about someone, mate.” And if Ron noticed that Harry’s eyes were suddenly glistening, he didn’t mention it. “You don’t just let them face shit like that on their own.”

They’d never been this open with each other before. Not about their feelings or fears. And Harry wasn’t sure if it was due to the alcohol or that neither of them had had a full night rest in God knows how long, or the fact that they had almost  _ died  _ (again). But Harry didn’t entirely hate it, even though the lump in his throat was back. And as much as he tried, it wouldn’t go away, not if he kept talking. He couldn’t end the conversation, though, even though he was suddenly having a hard time stringing coherent sentences in his brain. Not yet. Not before…

“I love you too, you know that, right?” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he’d spoken. Not that he’d take them back. “And I’m sorry I’ve never said it before, but-” He choked, swiping at his eyes. 

And this time, Ron swung his arm over his shoulder, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “Hey, it’s okay. I know. You don’t have to tell me-”

“No, yes I do,” he said, shaking his head, and he thought maybe he sounded a little hysterical. “Because you’re my best friend. And if something happened to you, and I didn’t get to tell you, like-”  _ Like Sirius.  _ He closed his eyes, fighting a losing battle against the tears now spilling down his cheeks. 

And it was a testament that Ron didn’t  _ actually _ have the emotional range of a teaspoon, because Ron could guess at what had happened, what had been left unsaid between Harry and Sirius without Harry having to explain. Because he was suddenly being wrapped in a tight hug and Ron was shushing him, saying softly, “hey, you’re going to be okay.”

Harry shook his head, unable to explain to Ron that  _ he couldn’t fall apart _ , not now, not when the entire weight of the wizarding world was on his shoulders and his alone. But it was too late now. The floodgates, as they say, were open. So what could he do, besides sag into Ron’s embrace and softly cry into his best friend’s shoulder. 

And some small corner of his mind thought that maybe this wasn’t so bad. That maybe it was okay, maybe even a little nice, to not be crying alone right now.

He didn’t know how long he cried, but eventually he was able to pull away enough for the full-on hug to turn back into a one-armed hug. He still leaned against Ron, though, and closed his eyes as the last of the tears dissipated.

He must’ve fallen asleep, because the next time he opened his eyes, there was a small amount of light filtering through the window, indicating sunrise. He was momentarily confused as to why his neck hurt so much, and why he was on the floor instead of on a mattress. But when he pulled away from what he was leaning on, he immediately clutched his head and let out a groan.

“That would be a hangover.” He turned his head to the sudden voice to his left, and let out another groan at what he was sure was his brain trying to break out of his skull. Ron let out a soft laugh. Harry turned to glare at him, and was greeted with a weak grin and a “Good morning, sunshine. It’s good you woke up. I was about to piss myself.”

Despite his attempt at joking, though, Ron looked utterly exhausted. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced, almost black instead of purple, made all the more obvious against pale skin. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, even worse than Harry’s usual style. And his eyes were bloodshot, and Harry wasn’t sure if it was due to lack of sleep or if Ron had cried with him the previous night.

His mouth felt suddenly dry, and he said, “Did you even sleep?”

“I’m fine. I still have a few hours before Mum comes and wakes us up. Besides, I sobered up enough over the past couple of hours that I don’t have to worry about a hangover.” Despite his reassurances, Ron let out a big yawn, blushing a bit as he did, then immediately wincing as he pulled his arm right arm to him, probably cramped up from where Harry had leaned on it half the night.

“You should’ve woken me up. You look like shit,” Harry said, voice sympathetic.

Ron snorted and gave him an incredulous look. “I’m sorry, should I introduce you to a mirror?” But his eyes twinkled, letting him know that he was joking.

Harry couldn’t help himself. He laughed. Actually laughed, suddenly feeling… not weightless, but weighing… well, a little less, like some of the sorrow he had held onto had dissipated, just a little, a tiny smidge, but enough to leave a tiny window for something else. Like laughter. So he did. Not a snort, or an alcohol-induced giggle, but an actual laugh.

And it wasn’t much. It wasn’t like he was  _ healed,  _ whatever that meant because no one night of drinking could do that, but it could be enough for now.

Except that his head still really fucking hurt, and laughing was making it worse, and  _ that  _ irony was too hilarious for him to not laugh at.

Ron looked slightly alarmed at the turn of events, but as Harry was laughing and not crying or screaming or anything of the sort, he didn’t say anything, not until Harry clutched at his head again and let out a weak “ow”. 

“I’ll go get you some water, then. And I can probably find some hang-over potion, or at least something for headaches.” He moved to stand, but made the mistake of pushing himself up with his right hand, causing him to immediately flinch and let out a swear, sitting back down. “Er- maybe give me a second,” he said as he massaged his arm.  _ That  _ stopped Harry’s laughter.

“You should’ve woken me up.” Ron rolled his eyes and got up again, this time relying on his left arm. 

“I’m fine. Go lay down, you can have my bed for now. I’ll take the mattress.” Harry opened his mouth again to protest, but Ron cut him off, exasperatedly saying, “Will you stop being a stubborn git and let me help you?”

Harry stopped. Ron was talking about water, and potions, and the bed, of course, but Harry was instantly brought back to the previous night’s conversation. To the fact that Ron had stayed up all night despite how exhausted he was, letting his arm cramp up, to watch over him, to be a shoulder to cry on. Harry opened his mouth to say thank you, to tell him how much he appreciated and cared about him, how much he valued their friendship, but he said, “Okay. I will.”

Ron smiled at him, and Harry was left with the slight impression that maybe he wasn’t talking about water or potions or beds either. “Alright. Go to bed then.” Harry grumbled, but obeyed.

And by the time Ron came up with a glass of water in one hand and a vial of potion on the other, Harry was already fast asleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be completely sporadic. Also, real question, are genies a thing in the Wizarding World?


	3. Day in, Day out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months after the war, Ron is overwhelmed. Harry steps in to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was looking at some Ron asks on Tumblr the other day and one of them asked something along the lines of what quality of Ron's isn't really talked about. And I was just thinking about how even though he usually slacks off at school and stuff, when he really wants or cares about something, he'll work really hard for it. Like researching for Buckbeak's case or practicing to make the Quidditch team. So that ask gave birth to this idea.
> 
> Also, the length of these is really going to be all over the place. Like, the next chapter I have planned shouldn't be more than like 500 words. 
> 
> Enjoy!

A loud crash followed by cursing woke Harry up. Instantly, he was on his feet, pausing only to grab his wand and glasses and bolting across the hall, to Ron’s room. His heart was in his throat, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he practically burst through the door leading to his best friend’s room, wand drawn, ready to attack anyone to protect himself and Ron.

But all he found was said best friend, crouched beside his bed, quickly wrapping his right hand around the wand on his bed and pointing it at the door the instant Harry burst in, and clenching his left hand around whatever he had been holding. At this second action, he cursed again, dropped his wand, and wrapped his right hand around his left, which Harry suddenly noticed had started bleeding.

“What the hell?” In an instant, Harry was at his side, stepping over the broken shards of glass littering Ron’s floor, cradling his trembling hand into his own. Ron tried to pull away, but Harry pulled harder. “Let me see, will you?”

There were shards of green now buried into his palm where he had mindlessly clenched his hand in a panic, readying himself for an attack. Harry winced in sympathy. “Ron, why were you holding glass with your bare hands?” He didn’t know a spell to remove the glass shards, so he’d have to remove them by hand before mending the cuts.

“The lamp fell,” he said, and hissed as Harry removed the biggest shard. The lamp had been a housewarming gift from Mr. Weasley, a muggle artifact Ron could actually use now that he was living in a mostly muggle apartment.

“I can see that, but why not use your wand to clean this up?” Harry removed the last of the shards and muttered an incantation under his breath, instantly closing up the wounds on Ron’s hand, then muttered a  _ scourgify  _ to clean the blood. A quick  _ reparo  _ and the lamp was whole again, albeit, not as nice with cracks and scratches marring its surface.

“I didn’t- I didn’t think about it.” Harry raised an eyebrow at him, and it was only now that he knew Ron wasn’t in any danger and their apartment wasn’t being attacked and that Ron wasn’t bleeding anymore, that Harry took notice at the disarray around them. Ron’s book bag was open on his bed, quills and loose parchment and old snacks and snack wrappers spilling onto it, and two books that Harry recognized from Auror training were open among the mess. His desk was even worse. Another book lay open, and more quills, as well as about a dozen pieces of parchment all covered in Ron’s messy handwriting. Two coffee mugs, as well as more wrappers. Ron was a stress eater.

“It was stupid,” Ron continued, rushing through his words. “I moved the book too harshly and the lamp fell over. I’m sorry I woke you up. You can go back to sleep.”

“It’s fine.” And another thing. A small, infuriatingly familiar, empty vial, which was probably the reason Ron’s hands were still trembling. He kept his anger at bay, knowing that it probably wasn’t the best idea to have this argument at- he looked at the clock on the wall- 3 a.m. “What are you still doing awake?” he asked instead, even though he knew the answer.

It had been almost seven months since the end of the war. The first couple of months were still a blur in his mind. A haze of grieving and funerals and pain and rebuilding. They had worked on rebuilding Hogwarts then, himself along with Ron and Hermione and the rest of the DA along with half of those who fought in the battle of Hogwarts. Well, those who had survived, anyway. They hadn’t rebuilt it by the time classes rolled around. But enough of the castle stood standing to be able to hold classes in it. And the student population had dropped. Some due to death or disappearances. Others who had fled due to the war. And still, others who were simply too scared or too weary or who simply didn’t want to return to Hogwarts after what had transpired there. So, after deciding not to admit any new students for the time being, the remaining school population, along with Hermione and Dean and a few others who had decided to return for their NEWTS, returned to Hogwarts to reclaim their education.

And they had rebuilt their lives. Fred’s death had been a devastating blow. Not a day went by in that horrible first month that Molly did not cry at least once. George had refused to speak for a full week, and didn’t leave his bedroom for the first three weeks until Ron and Percy patiently coaxed him out. The entire Weasley household had been suffocatingly silent, holding their breaths, until finally, two months and three days after that fateful day in May, George announced that he was moving back to their, to  _ his _ , flat above Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. And everyone breathed again. It had been slow, but suddenly the Weasleys were smiling again, sometimes even laughed, and a few days after George had announced his decision, Molly began to hum again while she cooked.

Harry and Ron had moved out a few weeks after helping George settle into his flat. They had rented an apartment in Muggle London to avoid public attention, but just a few blocks away from Diagon Alley. Both Harry and Ron had enrolled for Auror training, and much to Harry’s exasperation, Ron began to work part-time at the Three Broomsticks, mostly on weekend nights, to be able to pay his half of the rent because as they were only just aurors-in-training, their pay was low. George had announced during the summer that he would be reopening WWW for the Christmas season, the same day classes would let out for Hogwarts, and had recruited all available hands to help. Harry, Ron, Lee Jordan, and even Percy had all jumped at the occasion, but it was Ron who spent the most hours at the shop or at George’s flat, helping with stocking, and cleaning, and designing and redesigning more wheezes. Harry had been stopping by Hogwarts whenever he could, helping with the continued reconstruction, occasionally joined by Ron and George. All of them stopped by the Burrow as often as the could. Both Harry and Ron had found their purpose in life. They were healing. Their new lives worked.

At least at first.

“I’m studying for the exam tomorrow,” Ron muttered, glancing at his desk. “Go back to sleep.” Ron was frighteningly pale, with bags under his eyes so dark Harry wouldn’t be surprised if they were actually drawn in with ink. He hadn’t bothered with concealing them under glamours this time, and Harry wondered if he simply didn’t care or hadn’t even remembered to. His usually tame hair was sticking out in all directions, and Harry assumed he had probably pulled at it all night in stress. Ron was clearly completely and utterly exhausted.

Which was unfortunately nothing new.

“You told me you had studied already,” Harry said, trying to keep the accusation out of his voice.

“I did!” Ron said, almost yelling, voice unnaturally high. “But then last night, when I was looking over my notes one last night, I realized I completely skipped over the antidotes for common poisons and the theory behind shield charms. How could I have been so stupid to forget about  _ two fucking sections _ ?” He laughed, but there was a slightly hysterical note to it. 

“And I was going to go over it, I was, but then I- I fell asleep.” He took a shaky breath. “It was so stupid. But I was so tired because Rosmerta asked me to cover a shift Tuesday night and then we were running in training all day yesterday and I was restocking all evening after that.” He was talking very fast again, tugging at his hair, and looking so frazzled that Harry briefly wondered if slipping some sleeping draught into his drink would be worth the week-long silent treatment Ron would surely give him.

“So I fell asleep. It was only for an hour, promise,” he said, as if Harry would get mad at him for having the audacity to take a break. “And I started reading, but then George sent me an owl…” And he didn’t have to explain that part. George would only ask for Ron in the middle of the night if he was in the midst of an emotional breakdown.

“So I just, I didn’t have time until now. But I’ve been looking at these notes for hours and I can’t memorize a single fucking thing. And Harry, the shield theory-  _ I don’t get it! _ ” Ron looked completely panicked now, eyes wide, and his breathing was becoming slightly irregular.

“And this exam is at ten and I’m going to completely flunk these two sections and I’m going to be at the bottom of the class and get all the worst assignments in the field and we won’t be partnered together, and I’ll have to be paired up with the likes of  _ Cormac fucking McLaggen  _ and my entire Auror career will be a joke all because I’m too much of an idiot to understand shield theory!” Ron’s voice had become louder and more high-pitched through his speech, and he was shaking now, and bloody hell, he looked like he might actually  _ cry _ .

Harry immediately wrapped him up in a hug. “Hey,” he said, trying to make his voice sound soothing. “Breathe, mate. You’re going to fine. You’re not thinking straight. Your entire career isn’t going to be over if you fail this exam.”

Ron shook his head and struggled against Harry’s hold. “Let me go. I need to study.”

“What you need is a nap. When’s the last time you slept a full eight hours? Hell, when’s the last time you slept a full four hours?”

“I don’t have time!” Ron yelled, finally managing to escape Harry’s grasp. “I need to study and then go fail this exam and then go to work and then finish restocking because the opening for WWW is in two weeks. So if you want to help, go get me another cup of coffee.” He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to stop the trembling.

“If you drink another cup of coffee, you might actually combust.”

“Then just leave me alone! I need to learn this.” Ron stood up to go to his desk. 

Harry sighed, and stood up, biting back an angry retort. “Ron.” He ignored him, picking up the book and plopping down on his chair, grabbing a piece of parchment from the table and glaring down at it, but his eyes were unfocused and Harry knew there was no way he was actually concentrating on what he was reading. Harry stomped over and pulled the chair back. “Ron. At least go take a shower.”

“Didn’t I just say-”

“Listen to me,” Harry said, giving him a steely look. “You are completely out of it. You will not learn anything like this. Go take a shower to clear your head.”

“Harry,  _ I don’t have time! _ ” He stole a glance at the clock, which was now at 3:20 a.m and began breathing heavily again.

Harry placed his hands on Ron’s shoulders. “Fifteen minutes. Just fifteen minutes. I’ll help you study when you come back.”

Ron shook his head. “You need to sleep, too. You’ve already been woken up by three nightmares this week.”

Harry blushed a bit, but then shook his head and fixed a glare on Ron. “Ronald Weasley, if you do not listen to me, I will stun you right now and force you to sleep for the next twenty-four hours.”

Ron scoffed. “You wouldn’t.” But at Harry’s stoic expression, he looked a bit worried. He stole a glance at his wand, probably wondering whether he could get to it in time, but Harry wasn’t concerned. Even if Ron got his hands on his wand, he wouldn’t be much of a challenge in this state. Finally, he growled an angry, “Okay, Mum.” But he still got up and stomped to his closet to pull out, Harry huffed in frustration, his Auror robes, as he had not changed out of his WWW uniform and clearly had no intention of sleeping before his test.

“Your insults are better when you’re fully awake, you know,” Harry called after Ron’s retreating form and received a two-fingure salute and a door slam for his troubles.

Harry sighed and began to pick up the mess on Ron's bed, stuffing it back into his book bag. He had tried to be supportive, to stay out of Ron's way and keep his retorts at a minimum even on days when he would find Ron dozing off during their lunch break, too tired to even attempt to hide his exhaustion from Harry. Not that it worked very well. They lived together after all, and Harry had known Ron for the better part of a decade. He knew his best friend better than anyone else. So Harry wasn't fooled by Ron's jokes and bright smiles and constant reassurances that he was  _ just fine _ . Even the Weasleys were beginning to notice, despite the fact that Ron had become frighteningly good at disguising his true feelings from them after the war and now his seemingly chronic exhaustion. 

Mrs. Weasley had pulled him aside the last time they were at the Burrow, asking Harry if Ron was doing okay. Out of a sense of loyalty to Ron and not wanting to cause her any concern, Harry had responded that he was fine, that auror training was just becoming a little more intense. Harry was sure that George had noticed too, though Ron concealed his emotions from him more than anyone, so he might have not realized just how much he was wearing himself down. Besides, George had come to depend on Ron more than anyone in the months following Fred’s death, both emotionally and professionally at WWW, so Ron was more likely to cut off his own foot than to admit to George that volunteering his time at the joke shop was a source of tremendous stress. Hell, he would never even admit it to Harry.

Throughout their years at Hogwarts, Ron had been the one to keep him and Hermione sane and relatively healthy. He would joke with Harry and drag him out for a game of Quidditch whenever he would brood too much. He would coax Hermione to take a break and sleep whenever she became too absorbed in her school work. He would make sure Harry’s plate was full during meals or slip out some snacks for Hermione whenever she was too busy studying to stop by the Great Hall to eat. He would put his put down when he thought either of them were in over their heads in whatever new scheme they had come up with to stop Voldemort or Malfoy or Snape or fight for the protection of magical beings. A pillar of strength. Their rock.

And he still was. Harry would still often wake up to concerned blue eyes staring down at him after a nightmare, a cup of tea and a game of chess always ready at the dining table. He wrote to Hermione every day, always reminding her to eat and sleep with half-hearted threats that he’d break into Hogwarts if she wasn’t (very hypocritical, really). He’d snap at reporters and glared down at Harry’s overenthusiastic fans who did not understand the meaning of personal space. 

But now his role had expanded. 

The Weasleys had always been a close knit family, and they still were. But Charlie was back in Romania for his job. Bill was starting a family, and Ginny was back at Hogwarts. Percy tried. He did. He ran home whenever he was summoned and offered to help his father in the tool shed and checked all of George’s WWW paperwork. But the effects of his two-year absence, his two-year betrayal, still hung in the air. All the Weasleys had forgiven him, and Harry was sure that there was almost no lingering resentment left. But there was an awkwardness that never really went away. Percy was too agreeable now, never argued, never had a retort or pursed his lips in disagreement, or was every really himself. And try as he might, he would never be able to completely understand the horror of every battle, the constant peril the Weasleys put themselves in, the fear of being discovered or constantly running for their lives. 

So Ron had stepped up. He cheerily helped his mother with household chores when he stopped by. Hugged her and reassured her whenever she got misty-eyed. He dragged his father out to lunch with him every other day, and then dragged him out to Muggle shops if he became too quiet, too withdrawn, lost in memories of his fallen son. And he always,  _ always _ , responded if George needed him.

Harry understood Ron’s need to be his family’s emotional support. Hell, half the time he was there with him. It was who Ron was. Reliable and loyal, never one to stand back when the people he loved were hurting. And it was also a way for Ron to heal from his own emotional scars.

So if Harry came home to find Ron fast asleep on the couch, with shoes on and still fully dressed in one of the three different uniforms he owned? Well, he’d summon Ron’s blanket and cover him with it. And he’d pack an extra lunch whenever Ron slept through his alarm clock and didn't wake up in time to cook his own. He’d throw a snack at him whenever he rushed to the floo, rushing to his next destination without a meal and had a cup of coffee ready the morning after a long shift at the Three Broomsticks. Harry didn’t mind picking up some of Ron’s chores or nudging him in training whenever he became a little too drowsy. Whatever his decisions were, Harry fully supported his best friend.

Except that Ron was a full-time auror trainee, homework and exams and all. And he was also working twenty hours a week at a bar. And he was also helping his brother open up his store practically from scratch after it had been so thoroughly destroyed after the war. And he was always on call whenever his family or friends needed his support. And he was forcing himself to smile and joke and laugh every single day, no matter how exhausted or emotionally drained he was. But he was still having nightmares, waking up screaming once or twice a week, calling out for his friends and family, but mostly for Fred or Hermione or Harry himself. And when he didn’t think anyone was looking, he would drop the smile, a far-off, misty look in his eye that reminded Harry of the time he had found him sobbing in his dad’s tool shed a week after Fred’s funeral, and Harry’s heart clenched at the sight.

Harry grabbed the empty vial off Ron’s desk and sat down on his bed.  _ Day in, Day out,  _ read the inscription. Used to keep a person awake and alert for thirty-six hours at a time. Not to be used more than twice a week or twice a month. Not to be used with caffeine. Not to be used as a long-term sleep replacement.

Ron had promised he wouldn’t take it anymore two weeks prior after his hand had shook so much, he dropped two teacups he had been holding.

Ron was cracking under the pressure. If something didn’t change, if something didn’t give, he would break. Harry didn’t know what that would look like, and he definitely had no intentions on finding out. It was now Harry’s turn to firmly put his foot down and intervene. Even if it required certain sacrifices from his part.

By the time Ron emerged into the room ten minutes later, red hair still dripping a bit, he was looking far more focused and a little sheepish. "I'm good now. You can go back to sleep."

But Harry simply patted the space next to him on the floor where he was leaning against the bed, notes neatly arranged in front of him. Ron relented, sitting next to Harry cross-legged. "Let's go over potions first, yeah? See what you already know."

It turned out that with a clearer head, Ron was able to remember a lot more (who would've thought?). So after an hour of being quizzed by Harry, Ron could recite most of the potions' uses and ingredients without consulting his notes, only stumbling over a few of the most obscure ingredients. It was when they moved on to shield theory though, that they seemed to hit a wall.

"It's no use," Ron announced, slamming his book shut angrily after forty minutes of Harry's patient lecturing. "Forget it, Harry. I'm a lost cause."

"You're not stupid, Ron," Harry said tolerantly, already guessing at what was going through his friend's mind. "Shield theory is extremely convoluted."

"You understand it," Ron grumbled.

"Yes," Harry said, keeping his annoyance out of his voice. "Because I've spent every night for the last week going over my notes. And I did it while I was awake." As if to prove his point, Ron chose that moment to involuntarily let out a yawn. "And it helped that I wasn't drugged out of my mind," Harry said, with a pointed look at the empty vial on Ron's desk.

Ron had the good sense to blush at that. "You weren't supposed to see that."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Find a better hiding spot next time." Ron opened his mouth, no doubt to say that Harry should stop barging into his room next time, but Harry cut him off. "Besides. You're loads better than me at nonverbal spells and the best in the class at intuitive and emotion-based magic and strategy. You're not going to suddenly drop to the bottom of the class because of shield theory."

"But if I don't know the nuances behind how shields work, I won't be able to improve my technique." Despite his words, Harry was pleased to note that the bitterness had dropped from his voice and he had picked up the book again and placed it on his lap.

"Your shields are fine," Harry said firmly. "May I remind you that you've already successfully defended yourself out in the field? You've fought death eaters and are still alive, aren't you? It's more important to be able to perform the spell than to understand why it works."

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but he yawned again instead, and rubbed at his eyes. Harry removed the book from his lap. "Go wash your face. We'll go through it again when you come back." 

Harry smiled despite himself when Ron obeyed without argument. 

They spent the next two hours going over the complexities of shield theory. Hermione would have probably been able to explain it more eloquently than Harry, but this was Harry and Ron, and they understood each other better than anyone else, so Ron didn't have too much trouble discerning Harry's gibberish. To Harry's complete lack of shock, Ron eventually understood the concept, at least the basic and fundamental principles of how it worked, despite not fully grasping the nitty gritty details. But as Harry had pointed out, to fully understand the complexities of shield theory they'd need more time than what they had.

Eventually though, after the third or fourth time Ron had dropped his head on Harry's shoulder and then hastily picked it up while attempting to look at the text Harry was reading from, Harry had to stop them.

"Ron, you're falling asleep."

"Mm not," Ron muttered sleepily, making no attempt to remove his head from Harry's shoulder, and when Harry glanced at him, his eyes were drooping.

Harry poked him hard in the ribs. "Ron."

"Okay, okay, I'm up," he grumbled, rubbing his side and glaring blearily at Harry. "This potion is rubbish. Thirty-six hours my arse. It barely worked thirty-six minutes."

"It's not a miracle worker. Plus, I reckon you've grown an immunity to it," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Then, more quietly, tone serious, "You promised me you'd stop using it, Ron." The concern was evident in his voice.

Ron gave him a guilty look then glanced down at his lap. "It was just for today. I need to pass this exam." At Harry's raised eyebrow, he added, "Promise."

Harry leaned back against the bed and sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You can't go on like this, mate."

"Like what?" Ron said hotly, suddenly defensive. 

Harry didn't even blink at the sudden hostility. He gave him an incredulous look and pointed his hand at him, "Like this! You're completely exhausted, Ron! You've barely slept a few hours this week! You're running on sheer stubbornness and caffeine and potions. You're dead on your feet!"

"I'm fi-"

"Don't. Even. Start." Harry snarled. "You almost had a panic attack over an exam. Over school work! And last I checked, your name isn't Hermione Granger."

Ron slumped to the ground, knowing it was pointless to argue. "The shop opens in two weeks. I'll be able to get more sleep after that."

"Except you won't. Because then the shop will be full of customers, and you'll be helping George run the shop," Harry pointed out. Ron didn't dispute this. "And no matter how brilliant and successful he is, the shop won't be pulling in profits for at least six more months what with all the loans for repairs and new products. So it's not like he'd be able to pay you until then even though he wants to."

"I'm not doing it for the money, Harry." And there was that defensiveness in his voice again.

"I know that," Harry said, but despite his exasperation, he couldn't help but spill a little fondness in his voice. "I'm just saying, at this rate, you won't be able to leave the Three Broomsticks within the next six months, best case scenario. And we won't see a raise pay in Auror training until next year when we'll be helping out in the field. And Ron, you can't do six more months of this."

Ron ran a hand through his hair, and when he spoke next, Harry had never heard him sound so tired. "Then it looks like I don't have much of a choice, do I? I'm not leaving George, Harry. I'm not."

"I wasn't suggesting-" But Ron interrupted him.

"And being an Auror has been our dream since we were kids. And I kind of need to be able to pay rent, Harry."

"Except you don't," Harry said. Ron narrowed his eyes at him, and Harry knew that he was in dangerous territory. There was practically a caution sign in the air, but Harry wasn't backing down. Not from this. "Quit your job at the Three Broomsticks."

"No." His tone suggested that there was no room for discussion. Harry barrelled on. 

"Look, you can't-"

"I'm not taking your money. I'm not. I'm-"

"A grown adult who can take care of himself,  _ I know, _ " Harry said, quoting a previous argument. "I'm not suggesting I pay your rent." Then, after a pause, "I'm suggesting we move out. Somewhere more affordable."

That took Ron by surprise for a moment, but then he shook his head. "Where? I thoroughly checked before we moved in. There aren’t that many places cheaper than here that are this convenient. And absolutely nowhere would be cheap enough to afford on our current salaries. Not in Muggle London, anyway. And if we stick to wizarding communities like Hogsmede, we won’t be able to step out of our place without being harassed by reporters. You, especially. And anyway, even if I there was a cheap enough flat, you shouldn’t have to live in a shitty place because I can’t keep my shit together,” he said that last part quietly, and Harry opened his mouth to angrily to protest, but Ron cut him off. “And we’re not moving back into the Burrow. Look, I love my parents. I do. But we’ve been on our own since we left Hogwarts, and if I have to move back in, I might just have to jump out my window.”

“Well, some of that was a load of horseshit,” Harry said. “But I wasn’t suggesting the Burrow or another flat or anywhere we’d have to pay rent.” At Ron’s questioning look, he took a deep breath and making sure there was absolutely no reluctance in his voice, said, “Grimmauld Place.”

Ron immediately shook his head. “You mean the place that reminds you of Sirius every time you walk in? The one that holds traumatic memories of the war? No, Harry. We’re not doing it. That place reeks of darkness.”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry said, hoping he sounded convincing. “It’s the perfect solution. We wouldn’t have to worry about rent because it’s already mine. And before you say anything, it’s not like I paid for it with hard work or anything. Sirius left it to me, and he loved you and Hermione. He’d be fine with it. And the girls will be back from Hogwarts soon for the holidays. They can help us move out and we could recruit them and your brothers to get rid of dark objects. We’d even get a chance to practice all the brilliant new spells we’re learning against the portrait of Sirius’s mom.”

“That place is not good for you. There’s a reason we don’t go there anymore!”

“And maybe it’s time to stop running away from it. It’s not like I don’t think about the war every second of every day,” Harry admitted. “It’s just a house. I’ll be okay. And anyway, being reminded about Sirius isn’t a bad thing.”

Ron shook his head, unconvinced. “Look,” Harry continued. “What you’ve been doing all this time? Being there for your family and friends? Helping your brother restart his dream? Working towards your own dream? Supporting yourself financially? It’s brilliant, mate. Truly. But it’s getting out of hand. You don’t sleep. You barely eat actual meals, mostly snacks and coffee. You’re a nervous wreck and for good reason! Ron, you’re  _ killing yourself _ .”

Ron still didn’t budge, and Harry had to resist the urge to throttle him. It was like pulling teeth with this one, sometimes. “I fought this war to make sure that my family was fine, and right now, you are not fine. You won’t be able to help your family the way you want to if you continue like this. You’ll fall apart. And I  _ need  _ you to be okay, Ron. Let me help you.”

It was a bit manipulative, but if it cut through his best friend’s stubbornness, he didn’t care. Ron didn’t answer for a few minutes, leaning against the bed, lost in thought. Harry could practically see the warring thoughts flashing in his friend’s eyes. But despite the concentration in his eyes, there was also that look of bone-deep weariness. And his face was still pale. And the bags under his eyes were still a deep purple, almost black. That removed any doubt from Harry’s mind that this was the right thing to do.

“If we do this-” Harry smiled, so Ron emphasized “IF. It’ll only be until I’m official staff at WWW. And then we leave that shit hole.” Harry nodded. “And the instant, and listen to me very carefully Harry, the  _ instant  _ you begin to get more nightmares, or depressed, or whatever negative effect that house on you, we leave. Immediately.”

The “we” wasn’t even a question for either of them in any of these scenarios. After the Horcrux hunt, it was completely ludicrous to even think about living separately. Hermione leaving to Hogwarts was hard enough. If Ron lived away from him, too, well, he might also have to jump out Ron’s window.

“Okay.”

“Yeah, I’m going to need more reassurance than that. You need to promise that you’ll tell me if that house begins to affect you negatively.” Ron was dead serious, and Harry felt that surge of both exasperation and fondness again.

“I promise,” Harry said. Ron gave him a searching look. After a few seconds, he must’ve concluded he wasn’t lying, because he nodded, and fell back against the bed. 

“Okay. I guess we’re doing this. I’ll hand in Rosmerta my resignation letter tomorrow. She’ll be devastated. She’s quite fond of me, you know.”

Harry laughed, half at Ron's comment, half in relief. "I'm sure."

Ron nodded, and rubbed at his eyes again. "Okay, so, what were you saying about the intention of every wand movement?"

"Right!" Harry said, and continued to explain the chapter they had left off on. Not a minute later, though, Ron's head had fallen on Harry's shoulder again. He yawned.

"I'm really,  _ really  _ tired Harry," he admitted in a mumble. 

"Go on, then. Take a nap."

He shook his head. "I really almost lost it over an exam, didn't I?" There was a small grin on the corner of his mouth.

Harry snorted. "Yeah. If I wasn't here, I would never believe it. I should've taken a picture because Hermione will surely think I'm lying."

"Well, don't tell her, you traitor. Go on, then. Keep reading. I'm listening."

So Harry did for two minutes, Ron not moving from Harry's shoulder or opening his eyes. Harry reached for his wand, ready to levitate Ron onto his bed, sure he was lost to the world already, but Ron's voice stopped him.

"Still listening. Continue."

"Ron, you are clearly falling asleep."

"Nah. And even if I did, you're not very comfortable. I'd wake up within minutes." Harry lightly smacked him on the head. "See? Can't sleep here. Besides, I'm not sure if I'd be able to wake up, and I can't miss the exam or work. I'll just stay up and you can hit me with an  _ enervate  _ before the exam."

Harry gave him an incredulous look, not that it had any effect, as Ron still had his eyes closed. "Ron, you just told me you're quitting."

"Sure, but I can't just not show up. It'd be a dick move. They'd be short-staffed on a weekend. It'll be a week or two before I can leave."

Harry considered it for a second, then said, "What if I picked up your shift? Just for tomorrow, so that you get to sleep."

Ron snorted. "You don't know shit about waiting tables."

"Come on, how hard can it be?" Harry would come to realize that the answer was  _ very fucking hard _ , but that was a different story.

"Do you really want to be out in public like that? A lot of people frequent the Three Broomsticks. I'm just lucky they're used to me already."

"Rosmerta doesn’t allow reporters in there, though."

"Yeah, but-"

"It'll be fine. And I'll go to the shop early on Saturday with you to help with the restocking. You'll finish faster and get to sleep some more before your Saturday shift," Harry said with sudden determination, concern for his friend winning out any reservations he may have had. 

"Didn't you promise Nev that you'd help him on Saturday?"

Harry waved his hand. "They can make do. You're more important to me than restoring some library." Incredible how there was a time that the mere thought of admitting something like that out loud would make him blush.

"Don't let Hermione hear you say that," Ron teased, but his voice was affectionate. 

"Hermione would agree. Now go on. Off to bed with you." Harry nudged him, and this time Ron removed himself from Harry's side. He shook his head.

"No, I'm not done," he said, and reached for a sheet of parchment. Harry grabbed his wrist, stopping him. 

"You already know the basics, and you won't be able to process anything else right now."

He shook his head again, and rubbed his eyes. "I won't wake up if I take a nap, and I want to go over everything at least one more time."

"I'll wake you up," Harry said.

"Mate, you should go to sleep if you're serious about picking up my shift and then waking up early to go to the shop. My shift doesn't end until 3 a.m after clean up and George is expecting me at 7 a.m on Saturday."

Harry gave him a look, and Ron sighed. "Half an hour, yeah?"

"An hour and a half."

"Forty-five minutes and that's the most I'll concede. You  _ have  _ to wake me up, though. I’ll hex you if you don’t, Potter." But of course, there was no malice in his voice.

"I will. Eventually." Ron gave him a scandalized look and Harry put his hands up. "Kidding. I'll wake you up in forty-five minutes."

Ron nodded, then stood up and crawled into his bed, seeming to pass out the instant his head hit the pillow. Harry stood up and headed towards the door, opening it quietly, and turning off the light.

"Harry?" He stopped. "Thanks for looking out for me, mate." The voice was quiet, on the edge of sleep.

"Of course. Always." But Harry wasn't sure if Ron was even awake long enough to hear his response.

Harry headed to the kitchen and began making breakfast for two, fully aware that Ron would scarf the eggs down in less than a minute with one hand while holding a book in his other hand. He kept a careful watch on the clock the entire time, keeping an eye out for the forty-five minute mark. He took two coffee mugs from the cabinets, paused, then returned one of the mugs and took out a tea cup instead.

With fifteen minutes to spare, he sat down at the dining table and took a sip of his coffee. He wasn't looking forward to moving into Grimmauld Place. Not in the slightest. But, well… His mind flashed back to Ron's sunken eyes. It'd be worth it. And it wasn't like Ron had looked forward to sleeping in a tent in a forest for months.

When the clock hit the forty-five minute mark, he stood up, then stopped, smiled mischievously and sat back down. Fifteen more minutes wouldn't hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a working college student, I can relate to this story on a personal level. Though definitely not as bad as Ron here.
> 
> Also, as a side note, is it weird that Ron is my favorite character, yet I find it easier to write in Harry's POV?


	4. Better Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the horcrux hunt, the locket affects Ron the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say 500 words? Oops. Anyway, here's Ron's POV for a change of pace.
> 
> Italics and lack-thereof are intentional.

_ Worthless. _

Ron ignored it, but brought down the knife on the potato harsher than necessary, cutting straight through and into the table.

“Ron!” Hermione yelled.

“What?” he hissed, glaring up at her.

_ She only ever yells at you.  _

She didn’t flinch, apparently too used to his foul mood. “Be careful!”

He scowled. “If you don’t like the way I do it, you can do it yourself.”

Hermione glared at him, message clear: You’re not getting out of it this time.

_ Always a disappointment. _

He let out a small growl, and returned to stabbing the potato, but a little gentler this time. Slightly.

Hermione had returned to her book, but was turning the pages harshly.

_ She doesn’t want you here. _

\---

Ron stood watch outside the tent, the green of the locket glinting against the moonlight. He’d never hated a color this much.

His stomach growled and he angrily crossed his arms over his chest. He hadn’t been able to scavenge more than a handful of berries today.

_ Useless. _

Harry and Hermione’s disappointed expressions at his pathetic offering flashed in his mind.

_ Worthless _ .

He was so, so hungry, head a little fuzzy, and he felt so  _ weak.  _ He’d been feeling this way for weeks now.

_ Weak. _

He wondered, briefly, if it had anything to do with the splinching. He had lost a lot of blood. That couldn’t be good for you. Maybe he’d ask Harry and Hermione about it. Maybe they’d know-

_ They’ll think you’re pathetic. _

But that wasn’t true. If he thought there was a problem, he should tell-

_ You’re just worthless. _

Ron ripped out a patch of grass next to him.

_ Just like at the Ministry of Magic _ .

He traced a finger over his scars.

_ Like before the First Task. Like when Sirius died. Like at the chamber of secrets. Like when Harry faced Voldemort. _

He flinched at the name, sounding dangerous even in his head.

_ Like when- _

Stop.

Ron rested his chin on his knees, and wrapped his arms around them, shivering. It didn’t do any good to respond to that voice. The voice that was Volde- The voice that was  _ him _ .

But it was relentless now, the locket no longer concerned with simply affecting his mood or muttering a goading word here and there. It was out for blood.

\----

_ Useless. _

I get it, Ron thought.

_ Worthless. _

Try something else.

“Ron?” Hermione’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Ron, I asked for your opinion.”

“What?” Ron’s head shot up to meet her eyes.

“Are you even paying attention?” Harry asked, clearly annoyed. “What on earth are you thinking about that’s more important than this?”

_ Useless. Worthless,  _ the voice said, supplying his answer. _ Pathetic. Stupid. _

Shut up.

“I’m thinking my mum makes the best raspberry pie,” he said instead, popping said fruit into his mouth. He didn’t say it unkindly, but it had the desired effect. Hermione glared at him, and Harry snarled, both of them turning towards each other instead. Good.

Not all good, though, as the thought of his mum suddenly made his stomach drop in that same way it had since he had left home. Merlin, he hoped they were okay. Ginny in a school run by Death Eaters. His dad and Percy in the ministry run by Death Eaters. Fred and George out in the shop with Death Eaters running around. Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Fred and George, all of them in the Order. All of them going on missions and risking their lives while he was here being-

_ Useless. _

Right.

He turned his attention back to Harry and Hermione, who were muttering amongst themselves about how to get rid of the locket. The one currently hanging from his neck and muttering insults inside his head. Ron briefly wondered if it could hear their conversation, and almost snorted. The hilarity of the locket overhearing them without being able to stop them was-

Wait. 

His hands reached for the locket.

Could it be? The locket was distracting him, after all. Insulting him, preventing him from joining Harry and Hermione, stopping him from planning it’s destruct-

_ You wouldn’t be smart enough to come up with a plan. _

That stung. Ron shook his head, though. It was messing with him. With all of them.

_ Nothing but a comic relief. _

They hadn’t come up with a solid plan in weeks. Could this thing be affecting-

_ Nothing special _ .

He shook his head again. No, he had to concentrate.

“Ron, what are you doing?” Hermione asked.

“I was just. I was thinking-”

_ Least loved. _

He winced. No. No! This thing was toying with him. He had to take it off. Had to think straight. Had to-

“Hey, it’s still your turn to wear it! Don’t take it off!” Harry snapped at him, but his hand was already pulling on the locket, ready to rip it off.

_ Harry and Hermione make a good team. _

Ron paused, and Harry glared at him.

_ They work very well together. Just the two of them. _

Ron blinked. That was a new one.

_ All you do is fight. _

Ron dropped his hand.

_ They’re better without you. _

He swallowed. That wasn’t true. But Harry and Hermione were already back to muttering amongst themselves, completely forgetting about him.

_ You’re just a burden. _

That wasn’t- That wasn’t true. But he looked at his arm, still in a sling. Looked at the raspberries he hadn’t picked. Looked at Harry and Hermione, heads leaning towards each other, whispering plans.

Without him.

_ They don’t need you. _

Ron slumped back in his chair.

_ You should go. _

He stood up, and walked back to his cot, thoughts of removing the locket long forgotten.

\----

“Here.” Harry held out the locket in his hand.

Ron wanted to grab it and chuck it as far as he could, then run in the other direction.

_ Coward. _

He no longer needed to wear it to hear that voice.

“Take it, Ron.” Harry sounded annoyed now.

Maybe he’d take it and chug it at Harry’s forehead instead. It’d serve him right for bringing him along on this stupid, pointless, suicidal mission with no escape. This was all his fault. Him and-

Wait. That wasn’t right. Ron swallowed. That didn’t sound like himself. That sounded like-

_ You might even have a scar now, if you’re lucky. That’s what you want, isn’t it?  _ It wasn’t Harry’s voice, though. It was  _ him,  _ mocking him.

Shame rose within him.

“Ron, it’s your turn! Take the damn thing!”

Ron reached out and took the locket. He hung it around his neck, and tried to pretend it wasn’t burning him, wasn’t suffocating him.

Why didn’t it affect Harry and Hermione like this? Why was it just him? Was he that much-

Weaker. You’re weak _. _

And for a frightening second, Ron wasn’t sure if that voice was  _ him _ , Voldemort, or  _ him _ , Ron.

He began breathing heavily, but Harry was already heading inside, back facing him. He needed help. He needed to tell-

“Harry?” he called out. Please help me. Please take this off. I can’t think straight, Harry. I think I’m going insane.

_ Why are you such a burden? _

I need this to stop. I need to leave. I need you, Harry. Please just help-

“What?” He didn’t even turn to look at him. He sounded frustrated. He sounded tired. Tired of-

_ Tired of you. _

Tired of him. Of Ron.

“Nevermind.”

Harry walked inside.

_ He’s better without you.  _

_ He doesn’t care about you. _

Ron swallowed the lump in his throat.

_ You should just leave. _

\----

Harry and Hermione were talking again. They were sitting outside the tent, whispering again while he was inside, lying on the cot.

_ They don’t want you to hear them. _

He turned on his side. Why was he wearing this thing? Why was he still here, doing nothing? Why, when he could be fighting alongside his family? This was a shitty plan. They were going absolutely nowhe-

_ Harry’s fault. _

No!Not Harry’s… Dumbledore’s maybe. 

He would talk to them. They needed to see that this was stupid. They were all starving and miserable for no damn reason. There had to be another way. He would talk to them. He was sure Hermione would agree. He would convince them.

They don’t want you.

That’s not true!

They were angry at him. Understandable. He was being a giant prat. He’d apologize, and make them see. 

A noise cut him off. Was that… Was that Hermione’s snort of laughter? What was so funny about horcruxes? He hadn’t laughed in weeks, had barely cracked a smile, and here Hermione was… 

His breath hitched. Unless… Were they...

_ She’s better without you. She doesn’t want you. _

But no, Harry just had a good sense of humor. Harry was… 

The Chosen One. Brave. Smart. Loyal. Kind.

Fanciable, Hermione had once said.

_ And you’re just his sidekick. _

No, they didn’t think like that. They were his best friends. Harry wouldn’t do that to him. And Hermione liked him, Ron. She hadn’t said it, but-

But they’re better without me.

But no! His friends cared for him. They did. And he loved them both so much. He’d do anything for them, give up anything for them. He’d already left his family... 

His heart clenched.

He would give up his life for them if necessary. He’d beat this locket. He would. He just needed to take it off. He needed to tell them-

_ What are you, compared to the Boy Who Lived? _

No! Harry wouldn’t- Harry loved him. He’d said so!

He tried, desperately, to recall that night in Grimmauld Place, after Sirius’s death when they’d gotten drunk and poured their souls out. When Harry had said- he’d said...

But all that came up was Harry and Hermione’s permanent scowls whenever they had looked in his direction for the past few weeks. The time he’d accused Harry of entering his name in the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry had called him stupid. The time Harry and Hermione gave him disbelieving looks when he got his prefect badge. The time Hermione sat beside him and listed off all of Harry’s fanciable qualities, giving him looks of disdain the entire time. When he had finally, finally, proved himself in quidditch, and he had won the house cup… and they weren’t there to see him. Ron was always there, always, when they needed his support. But when it was Ron who needed them… They were at Hagrid’s. There was always something, someone more important…

Bill and Charlie and Percy and Fred and George and Ginny, always more important.

Harry more important to his mum.

Harry more important to Hermione.

His heart raced.

_ Second best, always, eternally overshadowed. _

He punched his pillow. This was wrong. It was wrong. He reached for the locket, ready to pull it off-

_ Pathetic. _

The word was hissed so harshly, with so much hatred, that Ron paused. The locket was trying to do something. Trying to stop him. Distracting him again, like-

_ Coward. _

He swallowed.

Harry hadn’t taken it off. Hermione hadn’t taken it off. They were strong, both of them. He could do it, too. He would. He had to. He was a Gryffindor. They never gave up.

_ You should leave. _

Maybe… maybe… He’d check up on his family. Make sure they were okay…

No!

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. The locket was wrong. It was. It had to be. Harry and Hermione wanted him here. He wouldn’t leave without them.

_ Better without you. _

He let out a small sob and hugged the pillow to his chest as that voice taunted him. That voice that was Volde-  _ his. His  _ and Ron’s. Both of them, blending together, and Ron didn’t know which was which anymore. Was there even ever a Volde _ -him?  _ Or had it been himself talking this entire time?

Is this what it felt like to go insane?

Better without you, his own voice whispered.

\----

Harry was wearing the locket.

And Ron was staying as far away from him as he could.

Too bad they were gathering food together.

“What are you doing? There’s more berries over here.” Harry was always annoyed with him now.

_ Because he doesn’t want you here. _

Shut the fu-

“Ron!”

“I heard you the first time!” he snapped, and reluctantly walked over to the bush Harry was surveying.

Ron angrily squatted and begin picking out the berries, pulling on them harshly, making the bush shake. If he finished soon, he could get away from it. It would hurt less- 

His grip slipped, and he dropped a handful of berries.

You can’t even do this right-

Harry snorted. Ron looked up and found him rolling his eyes, and Ron almost snarled.

How dare he. How dare he mock him when Ron was only putting up with this for him. When Ron was cold, hungry, and away from his family for him. When he was putting up with the taunts, and the humiliation, and the constant feeling of suffocation. When this was-

_ His fault. _

It was sudden, the feeling, and mostly foreign. The sickening, twisting burn of hatred. Of  _ hatred  _ for- for-

Harry?

Ron stood up quickly. The need to flee, to puke, to sink to the floor in shame was all-consuming. He began to walk briskly away from Harry, away from that  _ thing _ .

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“To take a piss, do you want to micromanage that, too?” Ron called back, and as soon as Harry was out of sight, his fast pace turned into a run until he was sure that he was far away enough that Harry wouldn’t be able to hear him, that  _ it _ wouldn’t be able to find him.

He stopped at a tree to dry heave.

This was wrong. It was wrong. 

Harry was his best friend. Harry was his brother. Harry was  _ family _ . Harry-

_ Doesn’t want you here. He doesn’t care- _

Ron punched the tree. It stung, but it cut the voice off.

Would it ever leave him? When they finally destroyed the locket, would the voice be gone too? That voice that wasn’t a voice anymore. Those words that were his own thoughts. Were  _ his  _ and Ron’s, together, barely a distinction between the two.

Barely. 

Because that hatred wasn’t Ron’s. It couldn’t be.

Ron began trembling in cold, in fear, in shame. It’s  _ his _ horcrux, he reminded himself. He hates Harry. Wants him dead. It made sense that he’d want to turn Ron against him.

But it wouldn’t work.

He loved Harry. The stubborn, insufferable, midget in glasses who would swim to the bottom of a lake to save him. 

And Harry cared about him. He did.

_ Then why do you have to try so hard to convince yourself? _

Ron took a calming breath. He wouldn’t let it win. It wouldn’t turn him against Harry. It wouldn’t.

But as he walked back to the berry bush, and closer to the locket, and closer to Harry-

_ You’re being tormented and he hasn’t even noticed. _

“Did you fall in a ditch? What took you so long?”

He ignored Harry. Him and the stream of  _ doesn’t care about you doesn’t care about you doesn’t care about- _

“You need to stop pulling this shit. It’s not fair that Hermione and I are pulling our weight and you’re-”

“I know!” He threw his hands up in the air in anger.

_ You do everything for him, and has he ever bothered to say thank you? _

“Then stop- what happened to your hand?”

Ron blinked and looked at his hand, which had bruised and swollen up after he had punched the tree. “I fell.”

“Let me see it.” And there was something in Harry’s eyes. Was it-

Yes! Concern! Take that, you stupid-

But then Harry came closer, wearing the locket, and Ron couldn’t breathe, and he stepped back, shouting, “Don’t! I can do it myself!”

And then Harry blinked. And was that hurt? And Ron wanted to reach out, to apologize, to explain, but Harry was wearing that  _ fucking locket _ , and he couldn’t get near him, and then Harry was saying, “Fine! See if I care.”

_ DOESN’T CARE, DOESN’T CARE, DOESN’T CARE, DOESN’T- _

You won’t win, Ron whispered to it, but his response was weak even in his own head. You won’t.

And in his head, the voice laughed.

\----

His sister was in danger. His  _ sister  _ was in  _ danger  _ and Harry and Hermione were talking, actually  _ excited  _ while  _ his sister was in danger. _

_ Better without- _

Shut up, he mentally growled at it. But his blood was boiling.

_ Harry’s fault.  _

He didn’t bother to correct it because Harry was defending Dumbledore’s plan like it was working. Like it was actually getting them somewhere when they had been sitting on their arses for weeks, months,  _ getting absolutely nowhere  _ while his  _ family  _ was in  _ danger _ . And he could be helping them, but he was stuck  _ here _ . Here with Harry who wanted him gone, who apparently didn’t actually give a shit. And Hermione was- she was-

“Don’t lie!” he yelled at her.

She was siding with Harry! Comforting him, when they both knew that he was wrong, that this was-

_ Harry’s fault. _

Not working. This was not working. But Hermione  _ always  _ sided with Harry. Always comforted him. Always  _ chose him _ .

“Go home then.”

_ Leave. They don’t care about you. _

He hadn’t. He hadn’t left because he loved them. Because he wanted to be strong for them, to help them. But he was useless now. Absolutely worthless to them. And they wanted him gone. And now Ginny was in trouble. Ginny and the rest of his family, and didn’t Harry fucking care about them? About the family that had taken him in year after year-

“Mummy’ll be able to feed you up and-”

His was drawing his wand in an instant, something twisting in his gut, something like hatred. Hatred. And it wanted to  _ hurt _ . And before Ron could fight it, he was moving, reaching for his wand, ready to curse-

Suddenly, a shield was up, and he was forced back. He glared at them, Harry and Hermione. Both of them against him, casting him out.

Because they didn’t want him here. Because they were better without him.

“Leave the locket.”

He threw it off. Finally.  _ Finally.  _

But it was too late. Its voice was still there, always there. Its hatred. Its mockery.

“Are you staying or not?” 

He knew the answer before she spoke. He’d always known the answer, didn’t need a locket to tell him.

Second best. Always.

They don’t want you here.

Harry’s words rang in his ears. “Then GO!”

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I think I'll try for a more lighthearted one next.


	5. Best Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry isn't jealous that Ron seems to have found better friends than him. Not at all.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

Dudley had told him ages and ages ago and over and over again that nobody would want to be his friend. And one time when he was eight and gotten the courage to ask to Aunt Petunia if he could invite a new boy in his class over to play, she had wrinkled her nose and asked him, quite cruelly, “Who would want to play with you?” He had told himself she was lying then, but by the end of school the next day, Dudley had chased the boy off with threats and promises that Harry was weird and a freak and that only weirdos would want to be his friend. Which wasn’t at all true because no one, freak or not, wanted to be his friend at all. 

He had hoped that here at Hogwarts, with no Dudley in sight, he might finally get a shot at a friend, or at least an acquaintance. And for a while there, Harry had something even better: a best friend. Not just a friend, but a  _ best friend.  _ One who he could laugh with and complain over homework with and who he had, on various occasions, stayed up with joking and trading stories and sharing treats he’d stolen from his older brothers. Like an actual sleepover. Like the ones Dudley had practically every weekend and Harry had to sit quietly on his bed, without disturbing the boys, as he fumed and was practically green with envy as Dudley and his friends laughed and laughed and laughed over whatever it was they found so hilarious. Probably kicking puppies since Dudley didn’t have a sense of humor.

But  _ Ron  _ did. One time, over breakfast, he had done such an accurate portrayal of Snape that Harry had choked on his milk in laughter. And another time Harry had made an offhand joke on their way out of Transfiguration, he didn’t remember what, but that didn’t actually matter. What did though, was that Ron had burst out into a fit of giggles, and had to stop for a minute, leaning against a wall for support and laughing so hard that Harry had to laugh too. Not because of the joke, but out of the sheer thrill of making someone laugh this hard. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone other than Ron had laughed at something he had said.Well not a good laugh, a  _ mocking  _ laugh maybe, but never like this.

And another time that git Malfoy had told Harry that the only reason Ron was his friend was because of his money in a tone that was painstakingly reminiscent of Dudley and made Harry’s stomach drop. But then Ron had shot back that there was not enough money in the world that would make  _ anyone _ want to be friends with Malfoy, and he had then pulled Harry away from the Slytherin and into their next class, all the while muttering insults under his breath that would surely make Aunt Petunia gasp. And Harry thought that if Ron had gone to primary school with him, maybe he’d finally have a friend that wouldn’t be deterred by Dudley’s antics.

Except that now it seemed that Dudley had been right. Because now Ron had found better friends. And Harry didn’t even have Dudley to blame for it. And the worst part was that Harry didn’t even know what he’d done wrong.

It had started the day before, when Harry had been getting ready for quidditch practice. He had been excitedly recounting the previous day’s practice, and Ron had been listening with rapt attention, but Harry must have said something wrong, because by the time he looked up at Ron again after retelling his brothers’ awesome dives, he had a sour expression on his face.

“Your brothers are really cool,” Harry finished, though a little awkwardly, hoping that a compliment might cheer him up.

It didn’t work. Instead, Ron snapped, “Yeah, I get it,” and almost stomped over to his bed, saying “Good luck in practice. I’ll see you when you come back,” in a tone that Harry took to mean “Go away now.”

So Harry did, confused and feeling like he’d just missed two steps on a staircase and was about to fall. And if Harry took longer than usual to catch the snitch in practice, it had nothing to do with him wondering how to apologize for something he didn’t know he did.

By the time Harry stumbled back into the common room, sweaty and dirty from a longer-than-usual practice, Ron was sitting down cross-legged on one of the chairs. But not waiting for him, like he’d been secretly hoping for. Instead, he had a chess board set up in front of him and facing none other than their dorm mate, Seamus Finnigan. 

At the sound of the door closing behind him, Ron looked up at him with a grin on his face. Not because of him, since he’d already been laughing when Harry walked into the room, but it was still a smile instead of a bitter expression. And then he said, “Hey, Harry!” and Harry almost burst into a fit of giggles in relief. “I was wondering when- Shay, you dirty cheater!”

Ron’s attention snapped back to the board, at Seamus who had been trying to move his bishop back to its previous position after he’d already moved it. And Ron wasn’t even mad! He just grinned and moved his knight to take Seamus’s bishop, and laughed at Seamus’s scowl, completely forgetting that Harry was in the room.

“Well, how am I supposed to win against you without cheating? You’re like, a chess master.” Ron practically beamed at the compliment, which annoyed Harry, because it wasn’t like  _ he _ hadn’t told Ron he was really good at chess. 

“Nah, you just need more practice. I can teach you some tricks another day if you want.” And the sinking feeling in Harry’s gut had nothing to do with the fact that he’d thought chess had been  _ their  _ thing. Because that was stupid. 

So Harry said, “I’m going to go now.”

And then Ron responded, “Yeah, okay. Good night,” without even looking up at Harry, and then said “I wouldn’t do that, Shay.”

And so Harry had walked up the stairs, his feet feeling like lead as he climbed up and up, listening to the sound of his supposed best friend laughing with  _ Shay _ . It was such a stupid nickname, too, nevermind the fact that Ron had never given  _ Harry  _ a nickname. Granted, “Hare” would sound dumb, but no less stupid than  _ Shay _ .

So what if Ron hung out with Seamus? And he certainly didn’t care that Ron thought Seamus was funnier, as he had laughed more with him (during the five minutes he definitely didn’t spend standing outside their room listening into their conversation) than he usually laughed with Harry. It didn’t matter that Ron had forgotten what he was going to tell Harry in favor of Seamus. And it certainly didn’t matter that Ron seemed to like him better than Harry. It didn’t.

And if Harry was suddenly hit with the desire to do nothing but crawl into bed and curl up into a little ball, well that was only because he’d had a long quidditch practice.

The next morning he didn’t see Ron at all until Potions, but that was because he had gone down to the quidditch pitch before anyone else had woken up and practice had lasted past breakfast, making him late to Potions and costing ten points from Gryffindor and Harry’s stomach to growl throughout the entire class. 

When Harry walked into the classroom, he had automatically wandered over to his and Ron’s usual table and then stopped short when he saw that his seat was taken but none other than  _ Hermione _ . Ron had glanced back at him, and looked like he wanted to say something, but then Snape said, “Eyes on your work, Mr. Weasley or do I need to deduct more points from Gryffindor?” and Hermione grabbed Ron’s arm and whispered something about the potion in front of them, turning his attention from Harry to their class work. Ron didn’t glance back at him once after that.

So, Harry had sat next to Neville, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest whenever he noticed Ron leaning close to Hermione and making side comments that caused her to swat at his arm once and struggling to fight back a smile twice. Harry got a subpar grade for that class’s assignment.

It shouldn’t surprise him that Ron had chosen to sit with Hermione instead of him. After all, the three had settled into a close friendship just a few weeks prior, and Ron and Hermione got along much better after he’d saved her life and apologized for calling her a nightmare. And Hermione was very smart, much better at Potions than Harry. Much better at every class than Harry. So it made sense. Hermione was smarter and Seamus was funnier, and all Harry had was a title that Ron wasn’t shallow enough to care about. 

So here he was now, quickly walking out of Potions to avoid them, swallowing down the lump in his throat because it  _ didn’t matter _ . So what if Dudley was right? So what if he couldn’t keep any friends? He’d at least had one for almost three months, which was far more than he could’ve said for primary school. And so what if he didn’t know what he’d done wrong? Aunt Petunia had told him once that he talked too much, that he was too annoying, that people liked him better when he kept his mouth shut. So maybe next time he wouldn’t get over excited about quidditch or the wizarding world or anything and he’d sit back and listen quietly instead. If there was even a next time. It didn’t  _ matter  _ that Ron had made him feel like he could be himself, that someone could actually like him, that someone could want to be his  _ friend _ , because that wasn’t the case anymore, right?

And it didn’t matter. It didn’t. At least he still had Hogwarts. At least he was still a wizard. And at least he wasn’t at the Dursleys. So who  _ cared _ if he didn’t have friends anymore?  _ He _ didn’t. It was stupid to think he could have them, anyway. It was stupid to think someone would want to-

“Hey, Harry! Wait up!” He turned, and it was Ron behind him, running after him. “How does someone as short as you walk so fast?” But Ron was grinning to let him know that he was joking.

“Um,” Harry said, because it was all he could come up with in his confusion. 

Ron held up something that looked like a crumpled napkin to him and said, “Here.”

“What is this?” Harry asked as he took it.

“Well, you missed breakfast, didn’t you? I snatched them from our table. I thought you’d be hungry.” They were biscuits. 

Harry gave him a tentative smile that Ron returned brightly. “Yeah, I was.”

“Well, I would’ve given them to you earlier, but I reckon Snape would’ve thrown a fit if you ate in class. Oh! And I’m sorry I didn’t save you a seat, but I was running late and they were taken.”

Harry’s smile grew. “It’s okay. Thanks for the biscuits.”

Ron beamed at him. “Yeah, no problem! Oh! Did you hear what happened yesterday? Some fifth years charmed their exploding snap set to explode into fireworks. Filch confiscated it, but Lee was telling us this morning that-” He suddenly stopped and swore. “Come on, we’re going to be late! I want to catch up with the twins before their next class and see if they managed it!”

“Managed what?” Harry said, grinning as Ron pulled him from the arm and into a run.

“Right! Lee told me that Fred and George were going to sneak into his office and steal it. I don’t think they’ll manage it, and if I had a knut, I would’ve bet it against them. But wouldn’t it be awesome if they did? Do you reckon they’d let us play? It doesn’t matter because I could probably get to it before they put anti-stealing charms on it. Though we’d have to make sure to have Hermione around because she’s bound to know the water summoning spell if something goes wrong. And we’d definitely have to make sure Filch isn’t around. Oh, and did you hear-”

And just like that, he was once again swept up into the hyperactive whirlwind that was Ron Weasley. But Harry found that he didn’t mind one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a comment if you can. It's kind of disappointing to spend hours working on chapters that get no reviews.


	6. In the Absence of Firewhiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ron have a discussion about what the locket told Ron before he destroyed it.

_ You are nothing, nothing, nothing to him.  _ Voldemort’s words swirled in Harry’s brain. Ron didn’t really believe that, did he? He couldn’t, not after everything they had been through, not after everything he had done for Harry.  _ It made me think stuff- stuff I was thinking anyway _ , Ron’s voice echoed in his head. Harry felt sick.

It was nighttime, and Harry was struggling to fall asleep. Ron was keeping guard outside, and Hermione’s soft snores could be heard in the tent. It had been a few days since the debacle at the Lovegood’s. Harry had been too caught up in the excitement of having Ron back and at the rush of the mission, but now that they were back in the woods, the locket’s words came rushing back to him. 

Harry had always known that Ron had insecurities, both relating to his siblings and his friendship with Harry. After all, their fight in fourth year resulted in part to Ron’s feelings of being overshadowed. But he didn’t- Ron was fine. Ron was always fine. He laughed, and he joked, and he followed Harry through hell and back. He had remained in the Quidditch team no matter how insecure he felt and he stood by Harry regardless of what others thought. He couldn’t possibly not know how much Harry and Hermione valued him, how lost they'd be without him, how lost they  _ had  _ been without him. He couldn’t possibly not know his worth, right?

Right?

Harry stood up, grabbed his blankets, and walked outside. Ron was sitting five feet from the tent, and hadn’t noticed him yet. Harry watched for a second as Ron struggled to keep his eyes open, his eyes seeming to close on their own accord. Harry grinned. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so tired if you didn’t insist on covering most of the shifts.” Ron’s eyes snapped open, and he gave him a sheepish grin. Harry sat next to him, wrapping his blankets around himself. They had a warming charm around the tent, but it was weaker outside.

“Gotta make up for lost time. Loads of missed shifts.” Harry didn’t say anything, but set his lips in a straight line. “Nightmares?” Ron asked, looking at him, concerned.

Harry blushed a bit. “Nah, just, couldn’t sleep.” Ron nodded, and turned his head back towards the woods, looking for any sign of danger.

_ He’s fine,  _ Harry told himself. They didn’t need to talk about it. Ron didn’t believe the horcrux. How could he possibly believe it? Harry had told him he cared about him before, once. So he knew. And he wasn’t second best. Harry never thought that, at least. Not at all. 

An image then, of Ron receiving his prefect badge, and instead of supporting him, hot jealousy and believing that he deserved it instead. Of Hermione struggling to come up with a reason Ron deserved the badge and of the twins calling him a prat. Of Dumbledore telling Harry that the reason Ron had the badge was because Harry had too much on his plate. How he wasn’t invited to Slugclub. How he was  _ always  _ dismissed by the student body, and teachers, in favor of Harry. How the twins and Ginny treated Harry better than Ron at times. 

_ But he stayed _ , Harry argued back.  _ But he always invited me back to his home.  _ It couldn’t have been that bad, if Ron chose to remain his friend. Right? And surely Ron knew, that no matter what the world thought, he was one of the most important people in Harry’s life. 

_ Stuff I was thinking anyway _ , Ron’s voice echoed in his mind. And another far more sinister voice:  _ I have seen your heart, and it is mine… I have seen your fears.  _ And how could it have possibly showed them what it did without Ron at least slightly considering that what it said could be true?

Harry swallowed. The horcrux was wrong. It was. They needed Ron. He was absolutely crucial in their lives. 

So he said, “Ron?”

“Yeah?”

Harry took a deep breath, ready to say, “I love you. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I would have never have gotten this far without you. I missed you when you left, so don’t you leave again.” But instead what he said was, “Why didn’t you tell us that the locket was affecting you so badly?” Because even now after seven years of friendship, he was still unable to put his emotions into actual spoken words. God, he wished he had firewhisky. Or another tournament declaring Ron the thing he’d miss the most again so that he’d get the hint. Or a spell he could jump in front of for him. That would do the trick.

Ron paused for a second before answering, then said, “Would you have listened to me if I did?”

Harry’s head snapped to face him. “What? Of course I would have! Why would you think-”

“No, I- It came out wrong. I just meant- You were wearing the horcrux, too, Harry. We were all in a shitty mood. I’m not accusing you of anything. But if I had wanted to take the locket off, I don’t think you and Hermione would have taken it too nicely. Obviously if we were all in our right minds, but- we weren’t then.”

Harry took a second to consider this. “I don’t know that I would’ve taken it as gracefully as I should’ve,” Harry conceded, “but I reckon I’d have tried to listen at least.”

Ron ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not that I didn’t want to, I just-” A gust of wind swept past them then, and Ron brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them in a gesture that Harry was sure indicated more than just being cold. Still, he passed along one of his blankets. Ron continued. “It was saying all these things, and it kind of-” Ron shrugged. “I don’t know. Made me not want to tell you.”

“Wait, it talked to you?” Harry asked sharply.

It was then that Ron met his eyes, a curious expression on his face. “It didn’t to you?”

“No! What did that thing say to you?” Which was a stupid question, and Harry almost regretted asking, because he knew what it had said, didn’t he? That’s why he was here.

Ron shrugged again. “It wasn’t like- Not like conversations. Or like a voice exactly? Well, no, kind of like a voice. Or just thoughts popping into my head. And some of them were-” He blushed at this, glancing at him with an almost guilty look on his face. “I knew some of them weren’t mine, so I knew that it was him saying it. But others…” At this, he pulled his knees against him even tighter. “It just made some thoughts worse. And I didn’t know if it was the locket saying it, or me, or-” A deep breath. And there was a faraway, almost haunted look in his eyes, and Harry knew that he was playing back whatever that thing had done to him. Harry immediately placed a hand on his shoulder, and Ron shot him a quick, grateful smile. “But one of the things said or implied or whatever was that I shouldn’t take off the locket. Like I should have been able to put up with it or that I’d let you down if I didn’t. Which is stupid in hindsight, huh? But I don’t know. It wasn’t like I was being possessed or anything. I was still me, I think. Just with a different thought process. You get me?” Ron looked up at him again, eyes searching for some sort of confirmation.

But Harry didn’t get it. Not really. But one thing was certain, though. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We shouldn’t have worn it at all. And I should have noticed that something was wrong. I mean, I did notice. I just thought-” Harry paused, because what had he thought? That Ron was being a dick? That he was being annoying? Which wasn’t wrong, exactly, but-

“Don’t apologize,” Ron said. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who left. It doesn’t matter what the horcrux said. I was being a prat the entire time, it’s no wonder you didn’t want to talk to me. I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve stayed. I’m sorry.”

“You came back,” Harry said automatically. “And you wanted to come back immediately, right? So it was more of you leaving to take a breather. You just… got sidetracked.”

Ron let out a snort of laughter. “Right. That’s one way to put it.”

Harry smiled at him, and they fell into a peaceful silence. The wind was picking up a bit, and Harry wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. An owl hooted in the distance as branches and leaves swayed with the wind. At least it wasn’t snowing.

Harry thought that, while he’d at least gotten the conversation started, it wasn’t what he’d set out to do. They hadn’t discussed what the horcrux had said that day, and Harry knew that Ron would probably rather jump back into the lake than speak of it. Hell, Harry himself was keen on never bringing it up again to avoid the awkwardness of that scenario. But he couldn’t stand the thought of Ron actually believing what the horcrux had said, not even for a second. That they were better without him… That they didn’t want him here…

So again, he said, “Hey, Ron?”

“Yeah?” Ron asked, looking back at him.

“You didn’t- you know that what the locket said that day at the lake isn’t true, right?” 

Ron stiffened, and quickly turned his gaze back to the woods. “I know. You told me you just see Hermione as a sister.”

“No, that’s not-” Ron’s head snapped back to him, a look of mild panic in his eyes, and Harry realized what he’d said. “I mean, yeah, obviously, she’s just like a sister,” he rushed to say, and Ron was visibly relieved. But it was that hesitancy, that doubt, that convinced Harry that they had to have this conversation. “But I mean the rest of it...” His voice trailed off, unsure of how to continue, how to even begin to let Ron know how much he meant to them, to him.

Ron didn’t speak for a moment, then said, “We don’t have to talk about this, Harry.”

“We kind of do, though,” Harry insisted, ignoring the nagging voice in his head that told him to play along with Ron, to just make a joke and distract him instead.

“No, we don’t,” Ron said, more firmly. “I’m fine, Harry. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going to run off again.”

Harry gaped at him. “That’s not what I’m worried about, you git! I’m worried about you! About you actually believing the crap the locket said about you.”

Ron didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, without looking at him, and in a voice so quiet that Harry had to strain his ears to hear, he said, “It’s a little true, though.”

Harry whirled in on him again. “Excuse me, what? Did you conveniently forget the part where I told you Hermione cried for weeks? How could you possibly think that we were  _ happier  _ without you?” He hadn’t meant to get angry, but the indignation was evident in his voice. The confirmation that Ron could actually believe that, could think that after all they’d been through that Harry didn’t want him around, twisted deep into his gut. Was he that bad of a friend? How had he completely failed to-

“No, not- I already said I was sorry, I-” Ron looked wretched. 

“You don’t have to keep apologizing! Stop-”

“Will you let me finish? I wasn’t talking about that part, okay? I just meant- I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it.” 

“No, say it!” Harry snapped. 

“Well, not if you’re going to get mad!”

“I’m not mad!” Ron gave him a look. “Not at you,” Harry amended. 

“It’s stupid, anyway. It doesn’t matter,” Ron muttered.

“It clearly does if it was able to drive you away!” Harry regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but it was too late to stop them. Ron looked like he’d been struck, and Harry immediately said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I just- I just want to understand, Ron. Please just talk to me. We’re friends, yeah?”

Ron nodded. He took a deep breath, and with total reluctance, said, “You know how I told you that we each have a role to play?”

“Yes.” It had been before they left for this God forsaken horcrux hunt. Ron had sat him down and told Harry that his role was to kill Voldemort.

“Well, your role is to be the hero, right? To kill the bad guy?” There was an undertone of desperation in his voice, willing Harry to understand. But he didn’t understand. Not this. “Mine’s the role of the sidekick.” And Ron had said that his role was to make sure Harry stayed alive to do it. But he hadn’t realized then that  _ this  _ was what he’d really meant, what he’d been thinking, and Harry felt sick again. “It’s just how it is, okay? It’s what everybody thinks, what everybody will think, and-”

And  _ that  _ implication did piss him off. Because how could Ron, after all this time, after all the horrors they’d seen, think that  _ that _ type of attention was actually worth it?

“So what, everybody says I’m the hero, right? And I get all the screaming fans and all the admirers and the reporters and you get none of that?” His eyes were blazing now. “You think I want the glory? You think it’s worth it? I’ve seen people die, Ron!”

“I know!” Ron exclaimed. They were getting louder now, and Ron was suddenly on his feet. Harry had half a mind to cast a  _ muffliato  _ on the tent before Hermione woke up. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that. And you said you wouldn’t be mad!”

“Well, now I am!” Harry yelled, and at some point he had gotten on his feet as well. “We’ve been over this before! I told you! You can have the glory and the name and the title if you want it-”

“I didn’t say that! I just meant- Look, you’re the one that’s going to kill Whatshisballs at the end of the day, and I-”

“Because of the stupid prophecy! But you can go ahead if you want-” 

“No, it’s because you’re a better wizard than I am!” Ron yelled, cutting through Harry’s tirade. “That’s what the locket was talking about!” Ron’s breath was coming in short gasps now and Harry wasn’t sure if it was because of the exertion of the argument, or because of the cold, or because of the myriad of emotions flashing in his eyes, and by God could Harry not identify a single one.

“That’s not-” Harry said weakly, but Ron cut him off.

“It is. It is true. And everybody knows it.” His voice was defiant, and he was making eye contact now, and not a hint of a blush appeared on his face like Harry would expect while he continued. “You’re going to defeat Voldydork, not because of the prophecy, but because you’re smarter than him. And braver. And because you would never just stand to the side while he murdered innocent people. And you’ve already faced him, again and again, ages before you even knew about the prophecy. And you beat him every single time. And you may not want the credit, Harry, but Merlin, that just means you deserve it more. But me?” He took a shaky breath, and ran his long fingers through his hair again. Harry was frozen, not knowing how to respond. “Well, I’m none of those things. And I reckon I would want a little bit of the credit if I were you. But it doesn’t matter what I want, yeah? I know that I can get jealous and insecure, but I don’t care about that anymore. I never-” He took another breath, collecting his thoughts. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what anyone thinks about me anymore or what anyone will say after this is all over. I mean, I’ve never really- I get insecure and stuff, but you’re more important than whatever I may feel, yeah? You’ve always been more important. That’s why I’ve always come back. So as long as you and Hermione make it out alive… as long as we get you to Voldylocks… Nothing else matters. Not anymore. Not what I may want or think or feel. Fuck, not even me.” The last part came out as a whisper, like he hadn’t meant to say it, and Ron stopped talking then, looking down at the ground, suddenly seeming to find his shoes very distracting. The blush that had remained off his face was there now.

Harry felt like he’d been hit with a  _ confundus _ , unsure what to say, what to think. Where to even begin to pull back the layers and layers of everything Ron had just confessed. Part of him wanted to hug him tightly, to tell him that of course he mattered. Another wanted to throttle him, to demand how he could possibly think so little of himself, how he could even think-

“You said once,” Harry started slowly, an idea floating in his mind that he desperately hoped wouldn’t backfire, “that you would have been there if you could the first time I encountered You-Know-Who. And in the chamber of secrets. And at the graveyard. Was that just a load of bull?”

“What?” Ron asked sharply, looking up at him, the beginnings of anger in his eyes. Good.

“And you told me that you’ll be right next to me, fighting alongside me whenever I bring him down. Has that changed then, since I’m the hero and you’re just the sidekick? If that’s true, now, were you just lying then? Are you going to let me face him on my own then because that’s my role?”

Ron gaped at him, a mixture of anger and indignation and hurt in his eyes. Which Harry hated to inflict, but- “How could you even say that?” Ron yelled. “How could you even think that about me? Of course it wasn’t a fucking lie, Harry! If you think, for a second, that I’d let you go off and face danger on your own, that I’d let you get yourself killed, then you’re a bigger idiot than- What the fuck are you smiling at?”

Harry hadn’t realized he was, but at those words, his smile grew. “Because you just proved the point I’m about to make.” 

“What the hell are you-”

“Ron.” His voice was firm, but gentle, stopping his friend in his tracks. “You’re right that there’s a huge difference between you and me.” Ron let out a sharp breath, and Harry winced at how his words had come off. Damn, he was bad at this. This is why Ron was always better at comforting people. “But it’s not what you think,” he said quickly. “The difference is that I’ve never had a choice about pretty much anything in my life. Voldydork- good one by the way- killed my parents, and he marked me as the Chosen One. And Dumbledore decided to leave me at the Dursley's for my protection. And it's me who You-Know-Who's been after. And it was me who the trap was set for at the Department of Mysteries. And it's me who the prophecy is about. Point is, I've been stuck in this world from the start, and that's why I'm here."

"You would've been here regardless of what the prophecy said," Ron insisted.

"Maybe," Harry said with a shrug. "But we'll never know, will we? But  _ you _ . You chose to be here. You chose to follow me down the trap door and with Aragog and to the Department of Mysteries. And you chose to follow me on this wild goose chase, and you've nearly  _ died,  _ Ron. More than once. And you could've left. You  _ did _ leave- and no, don't apologize again," he said as Ron opened his mouth to speak. "I'm not saying it to throw it in your face. I'm just saying that you could've stayed and been safer at Bill's or at Hogwarts, or wherever, but instead you chose to come back. And you choose to stay every single day. And I know that when the final battle comes, that you'll try your damn best to stand at my side because  _ that's  _ who you are. So don’t you dare say that you’re not a hero, Ronald Weasley, because I don’t buy it for a second.”

He couldn't quite make out the expression on Ron's face besides stunned. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead sat back down, staring at the ground. Harry followed suit. He still wasn't done.

"And about the other stuff… the part where we'd be better and happier without you. I don't know how much of it you actually believe, but. In case you need to hear it..." Harry took a breath. A shot of fire whiskey would be good right about now. "I don't know if you realize it, but I didn't have any friends before you,” he said quietly. “Not one. Nor did I have a family. Not really. But then you came along, and suddenly I had a best friend. Someone who actually cared about me, and not because I was the Boy Who Lived. And then second year came around and you rescued me from the Dursleys and took me into your home. And you kept doing it every year and every holiday, and took me somewhere that actually feels like home outside of Hogwarts. And introduced me to people who treat me like family.”

“Because you  _ are _ family, Harry.” Ron spoke quietly, still looking at the floor, and his voice shook with emotion. Harry placed his hand back on his shoulder.

“I  _ know _ ,” Harry said. “And I wouldn’t have that without you, don’t you get it? And it’s not just that. You defended me all the time at Hogwarts. And you stood by my side no matter what. And you made me laugh all the damn time.”

“I’m glad someone else thinks my jokes are funny,” Ron interrupted, clearly trying to find some levity between the outpour of emotions. But his voice still cracked a bit, and he still wasn’t looking at him.

“Very entertaining, thanks,” Harry responded with a smile. But then his voice grew serious again. “We missed you, you know? When you were gone. Terribly so,” Harry stopped then, once again reminded of the heaviness that hung in the air with Ron’s absence. “It’s not the same, with just Hermione and I. We need you around, mate. You said you were a prat with the locket on, and I mean, you kind of were. Not entirely your fault, though. But I still would’ve rather had a pissed off Ron with us than no Ron at all.”

There was a sniff, then, and Harry tightened his grip. One more thing to say. Just one more. He nudged Ron softly. “You’re like my brother, you know that? And-” Damn. Why was this so hard to say? He’d said it once before, after a near-death experience. And lots of booze. Although he supposed they’d had plenty of near-death experiences since. “And I love you,” he said, and Ron sniffed again, causing his chest to tighten. “And you should never doubt that.” Ron lifted his hand then, to swipe at his eyes. “And don’t you start crying on me because then I’ll cry too.”

“I’m not crying,” Ron said, though his voice betrayed otherwise. “I’m very manly, didn’t you know?”

Harry let out a snort of laughter. “Right. Big, tough quidditch player, right?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, his voice sounding more composed. “And I get into fights. I have scars and everything, you know. Even a dragon tattoo.”

Harry burst out laughing then, and cleared his throat, swallowing the lump that had formed during their conversation. 

“And I love you, too. You know that, right?” Ron finally looked up, and his eyes were still red, but there were no tears in them.

“Of course I know that, you prat.” Harry smiled at him. “You dived into a frozen lake to save me just a while ago, didn’t you?”

“Well, I’d do that for anyone, so.”

Harry laughed, swatted his arm, and then immediately pulled him into a hug. “When this is all over, I’ll kick anyone’s ass who tries to downplay you, yeah?” 

“And when they pummel you, I’ll step in to help.” Ron replied easily, though the smile and gratitude was evident in his voice, and he laughed when Harry yelled “Oi!” and lightly punched him in the arm. “And when this is all over,” Ron continued, with a yawn. “I’m going to take a twenty-four hour-long nap.”

Harry pulled away from him, then, and said, “Go ahead. I’m already awake. I’ll take over your watch.”

Ron shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. I signed up for-”

“Mate, you’ve taken more shifts than us since you’ve been back. You’ve earned a break, yeah?”

Ron yawned again, and said, “Yeah, okay.” He stood up and handed Harry back his blanket. “Thanks, mate.” 

And Harry also pretended Ron was talking about the blanket when he responded with, “Yeah, no problem.”

And when Ron walked back into the tent, Harry thought that despite the lack of firewhisky, maybe he hadn’t done such a bad job after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has been in my files for ages. I wanted to write it since before I wrote the first chapter of this little series. It's just one of those that you really want to write, but feel like it deserves so much more attention and talent than you have. Especially with these two particular characters who love each other very much, but are more prone to show their affection through actions than through words. I mean, I know I had a conversation similar to this a few chapters before, but Harry was an emotional wreck because of Sirius, Ron was doing the comforting (and Ron's pretty good at handling Harry's emotions), it was more of a "I love you and I'm with you" than a "let's talk about all your insecurities", and of course, they was drunk. So it was very tricky to actually have them have this conversation without it being so sappy and emotional that it was simply OOC. Seriously, I've edited this thing so many times and I'm still not totally satisfied with it. There are just so many ways this conversation could go because the horcrux fucked with Ron for weeks and in so many ways that it would take, like 10k words to cover all of it. Like the stuff with Hermione and Molly that I didn't address. BUT at the end of the day, this is a Ron and Harry friendship story, so I tried to keep the conversation about them.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and let me know if I did the characters justice in the reviews!


	7. The Poisoned Mead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene following Ron's poisoning.

Harry woke with a gasp, heart hammering in his chest, and hands shaking. The image of a blue face, purple lips, cold hands, and wide, lifeless eyes still in his head. He desperately turned to look at the bed next to his, and his breath quickened when he saw the curtains wide open and the bed empty, gift wrapping still on the bed from when its occupant had excitedly opened his presents what seemed like a lifetime ago.

In an instant, Harry was at the foot of his bed and throwing his trunk open, hastily searching for a certain piece of parchment. His fingers brushed against the map, and he snatched it up triumphantly, quickly muttering, “I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.” He scanned the piece of parchment, and his heart finally slowed, barely, when he located the name  _ Ronald B. Weasley  _ in the hospital wing. 

_ He’s fine _ , he told himself.  _ He’s fine.  _ But his eyes flicked up to the empty bed again, and the lifeless blue eyes from his nightmare flashed through his mind, and before he knew what he was doing, Harry was slipping on his slippers, pulling on the cloak of invisibility, and rushing out of his dorm.

He hesitated in the common room, and he glanced up to the girl’s dormitory. He couldn’t exactly go up there, but he could still try to get a message up to Hermione as to where he was going. The poor girl had barely spoken a word all day, and had been so reluctant to leave Ron’s side earlier, eyes watering when Madam Pomfrey informed them it’d be best if they left. She might even still be awake, worrying over their best friend. He could get a message, maybe send Hedwig up, but- 

This time, it was the sound of Ron’s strangled choking that filled his mind. His throat went dry. It’d take time to get Hermione down, and he just… he just had to make sure. So with a final, guilty glance up to the girls’ dormitories, Harry rushed out of the common room and headed to the hospital wing.

  
  


That day had been horrifying, to say the least. Harry knew fear. From finding himself cornered by Dudley and his cronies back in grade school, to Snape’s sneer as he stared him down in first year, to facing down Voldemort, alone, with half a dozen death eaters surrounding him and Cedric’s corpse lying a few feet away from him. Harry had known fear since- well, since the day Voldemort murdered his parents all those years ago.

But nothing quite compared to the way the icy, cold tendrils of terror had wrapped around his heart as he crouched next to Ron, his friend still refusing to breathe even after Harry had shoved the bezoar down his throat. There was a loud ringing in his ear, and the rest of the world had disappeared. All thoughts were wiped from his mind, only leaving behind a constant stream of “No, no, no, no,  _ no _ .”

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, petrified and staring in horror at Ron’s limp form until finally,  _ finally,  _ he took a long, shuddering breath. Harry sank further into the floor in relief, wanting to simultaneously hug him and burst into tears. But as he reached out to grab his friend’s hand, the door to Slughorn’s office burst open and the world erupted into movement.

Slughorn was there, face flushed and out of breath, with Dumbledore and McGonogall rushing in behind him. And suddenly Harry was brushed to the side, and they were conjuring up a stretcher and levitating Ron, taking him  _ away from him _ , and Harry muttered out a desperate, “Wait. What are you-”

Dumbledore had looked at him then, with a look reminiscent of pity, and in a voice as if he was talking to a small child said, “We have to take Mister Weasley to the hospital wing, Harry. Why don’t you come with us?” With a nod, he was on his feet and following the three professors and the stretcher out of Slughorn’s office and to the hospital wing.

They must have attracted the attention of other students on their way, as Harry later found out that news of the incident had spread to the entire school within the hour. But at the time, the rest of the world had fallen away. The only thing that mattered was the rise and fall of Ron’s chest indicating that he was still breathing (but barely, as he would later find out), and the endless flights of stairs that went up and up and up for what felt like an eternity, but was only a few minutes.

At some point, Ron’s arm had slid off the stretcher and was hanging limply, the new, golden watch he had been ecstatic to receive glinting in the morning light shining through the window. Something must have shown in Harry’s face, then, because suddenly, Dumbledore was talking to him in that same, soft voice he had used earlier. “You reacted spectacularly earlier, Harry. Not many would have acted as fast and brilliantly as you did under such duress.” Harry saw him shoot a glance at Slughorn. “Mister Weasley is lucky to have a friend like you.” Harry swallowed at that and nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak at the moment. 

But despite Dumbledore’s commending words, the minute they entered the hospital wing, Harry was once again brushed to the side. They must have gotten word out to Madam Pomfrey beforehand, because she was waiting for them in the hallway and immediately rushed the stretcher in, casting diagnostic spell after diagnostic spell before Ron even made it to a bed. When she cursed, and yelled at Dumbledore to get several potions Harry had never heard of before, Harry’s heart stopped.

“W-what’s wrong with him? You can fix it, right? Whatever it is?”

Madam Pomfrey didn’t even spare him a glance before saying, “Someone get Potter out of here.”

Harry’s eyes were glued to Ron’s deathly pale, limp form, urging him to wake up and sheepishly tell him this was a convoluted joke planned out by the twins. But he didn’t. Instead, he felt a hand wrap around his arm and start pulling him back, away from Ron.

“No, no I want to stay,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll be quiet. I promise.”

But the hand kept pulling, and a familiar voice said, “You shouldn’t be here, Potter.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I was the one who saved him. I should be there. I’m his best friend, I-” Suddenly, Pomfrey was closing the curtain around Ron’s bed, and why would she do that? Why would she do that when Ron was fine? He’d gotten him the bezoar. It cured everything, right? Why did she need all those potions and why did she close the curtain when Ron was- He was suddenly, inexplicably reminded of muggle movies and hospital scenes when they covered up the patient when they were- When they-

Before he knew what he was doing, Harry was jumping forward, fighting against the hand holding him, shouting, “Let me go! Ron!” But Harry didn’t even make it three steps forward before the hand tightened around his arm and he was pulled out of the room completely, the door shutting in front of him. “Let me-”

“Potter!” The hand holding on to him suddenly grabbed his shoulder and turned him to face its owner. He was suddenly facing McGonagall who was looking at him with a mixture of both anger and concern. “You need to calm yourself. You can’t be in there!”

“But-”

“Harry.” The use of his first name halted him. “I understand that you want to be there for your friend. But you’ve done all you can to help him. The best you can do now is let Madam Pomfrey take care of him. She can’t give him her undivided attention if you’re in there, too.”

He swallowed, and nodded slowly. He didn’t mean to ask what he did then, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “But he’s going to be okay, right? She can fix him?” His voice sounded small even to his own ears.

McGonogall’s face softened. “Madam Pomfrey is one of the most competent healers out there. He’s in good hands.”

_ That’s not a yes. Why can’t she just say yes?  _ But he knew the answer to that. His throat tightened and he fell onto one of the waiting chairs outside the hospital wing.

McGongall’s hand was suddenly at his shoulder again, but this time, she was squeezing it comfortingly. “You stay here. I’m going to contact his parents and inform his sister of what happened as well.”

“Hermione,” he managed to choke out. “You should tell her, too.”

McGonogall smiled sadly. “I’ll let her know as well.” It was common knowledge that Ron and Hermione were still not on speaking terms. But they both knew it wouldn’t matter.

She gave him one final glance to ensure he wouldn’t try to break into the room before she left. As soon as the sound of McGonogall’s steps faded from his ears, Harry was on his feet again. He didn’t try to break into the infirmary, though. Instead, he headed to the nearest bathroom, practically sprinting as he reached his destination. He had half a mind to hope no one was in there, but not enough to check, before he ran to the nearest stall. The door had barely shut behind him before he let out the choked sob he had been suppressing since the poisoning.

_ He’s not dead,  _ he told himself.  _ Get a hold of yourself. He’s not dead.  _ But all the words in the world couldn’t stop the second sob that wracked his body, or the third, or the tears that were suddenly spilling down his cheeks and onto the dirty floor that he didn’t care he was sitting on. All he could do was cover his mouth with his fist to try to stifle the sobs and try to even the breaths coming out in strangled gasps.

Because the thing was, Ron wasn’t dead. Yet. He wasn’t dead  _ yet _ . But God, he very well might be. Because all the magic in the world hadn’t saved his parents. And it hadn’t saved Cedric. And it hadn’t saved Sirius. And it might not save Ron. And he lived in a world that just loved to tear apart those he cared about, and he was stupid to hope that his best friends would be spared because they were at the top of that list. 

_ Stop it _ , he told himself.  _ You got him the bezoar. You got him to Pomfrey. He’s  _ not  _ dead. He’s  _ fine.

Because he couldn’t  _ not _ be fine. Not funny, loyal Ron who he complained about homework with and lost to chess to and who he faced danger with time and time again. Not his very best friend in the entire world who had given him a home, a family, and had saved his life in more ways than one. Not Ron who was the only reason Harry hadn’t lost half his mind already.

_ Not Ron.  _ Please _ , not Ron, too _ . 

He couldn’t even imagine, couldn’t even begin to phantom what his life would look like without his best friend in it. Since enrolling at Hogwarts, there had only been a few times he had gone without seeing his best friend. Summers spent at the Dursleys were horrible, the only thing making it bearable being the letters he received from his friends. And at Hogwarts, he’d only been without Ron once, in fourth year. That time had been one of the worst at Hogwarts. Never before had he felt so alone in the place he’d come to know as home. And that was just when they’d had a fight. At least he’d been able to see him then. At least he had still been alive then.

_ But he’s still alive now,  _ he tried to tell himself.

But what if he didn’t make it? He’d only known Sirius for two years, and hadn’t even seen much of him during that time despite both their wishes. Still, his death had been horrible, almost completely breaking him. It had been his friends’ constant support that had kept him together. So how could he manage it without Ron? What would he do if the very first person he ever loved, his very first friend, left him, too? 

Just what on earth would happen to him if Ron didn’t pull through?

_ He will _ , he insisted.  _ He will. He’ll wake up and complain that he had to spend his birthday in the hosp- _

And it was his  _ fucking  _ birthday! What kind of sick joke was it, to end someone’s life the day they turned of age? What twisted-

_ Enough,  _ he demanded. _ That’s enough. _

He leaned back against the wall and rubbed at his eyes. Ron wasn’t dead. He wasn’t, and it was wrong to start mourning for him like he was. Ron had been in tough positions before and pulled through. He could do it again. He  _ would  _ do it again. He was tougher than people gave him credit for, tougher than he himself gave him credit for sometimes.

What he needed to do was to be there for him when he woke up, and to be strong for Ginny and Hermione and the rest of his family when they arrived. Ron did not need him falling apart in a bathroom stall. And if the worst happened… If it happened…  _ No _ . He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that right now. He’d go insane. Right now, all he had to do was get up.

He just had to get up.

  
  


Harry clutched the invisibility cloak tighter around him as he recalled the fear and despair that had overwhelmed him for the better part of an hour before Dumbledore had stepped out and announced that Ron was stable. He wasn’t  _ okay _ , but he was alive, and for now that was all that mattered.

He shook his head to clear it and looked down at his map. He was barely able to duck into an empty classroom before Filch turned onto the hallway he was on. After that, he had a clear shot to the hospital wing and was inside the infirmary and standing next to Ron’s bed within five minutes.

_ See? He’s fine _ , he told himself.  _ Now stop being ridiculous and go back to your room. _

Ron was sleeping as Madam Pomfrey said he would be for the next couple of days. According to her, he would wake up every once in a while, but for now he would still be as confused and disoriented as the first time he woke up. Harry hadn’t gotten to speak to him then, as his parents had crowded around him, worried and teary-eyed, and Ron had been asleep again before Harry even got a word in. Pomfrey had said it was a good thing, that it was a sign that his body was recovering. And that the potions he was taking for the pain were working.

Harry almost growled at that thought, and angrily sat down in the chair next to Ron’s bed, pulling off the cloak.  _ That fucking poison.  _ Had Harry not found the bezoar, it would have caused complete organ failure within minutes. It had caused damage within the minute or two he’d ingested it, but the bezoar had stopped it in time. Not fixed it, but stopped it. Pomfrey hadn’t said, but Harry knew it would have been an extremely painful death, that it  _ had _ been painful, considering the amount of pain potions he was taking. He would recover, though, she had said. 

For now, though, he was still sickly pale and far too still for Harry’s comfort. Even in sleep, Ron would often toss and turn and would sometimes end up with half his sheets on the floor in the morning. He should at least be laying on his side, or snoring a bit, or at the very least be breathing loudly. 

A jolt of fear shot through him then, and before he knew what he was doing, he had his hand over Ron’s face and- yes, he was breathing.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and then immediately reached out for his cloak. He’d confirmed that Ron was fine. Now he should leave before he-

“Harry?”

-woke him up. Shit.

“Harry?” He turned around and smiled at his friend. Ron was looking up at him with bleary eyes. And despite the fact that he knew Ron should be sleeping, he couldn’t remember the last time he was happier to see someone awake.

“Hey, mate,” he said quietly.

Ron glanced around the room, but didn’t get up. “Where are we?”

“Infirmary.”

“Oh.” He blinked in confusion, clearly still under the potions. “D’you get hurt again?” 

Harry snorted, and it was all he could do not to laugh hysterically. “No. No, I didn’t. You should go back to sleep.”

Naturally, Ron tried to sit up instead. He immediately grimaced and let out a groan of pain. Harry was by his side in an instant and helping him lay back down. “Hurts,” Ron choked out.

“I know, mate. I know.” He tried to sound comforting instead of panicked. “C’mon, you have to go back to sleep. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Why?”

“Why?” And again with the impulse to laugh hysterically. “Because you need to sleep.”

“Don’t want to.” But even as he said so, he was clearly struggling to keep his eyes open. “Why does everything hurt?”

Madam Pomfrey warned his memory might be off for a bit. He forced the words out. “You were poisoned, Ron.”

“Oh.” It was a testament to how much the potions were addling his brain that he didn’t even seem upset at this, just mildly confused. “Am I dead?”

“No.” It came out much harsher than he intended to. “No, you’re not dead,” he said, softer this time.

That answer seemed to satisfy him because he said, “Oh”, then closed his eyes. After a few seconds of silence, Harry picked up his cloak again, convinced Ron was asleep, but then he muttered a soft, “Why?”

“Why what?”

Without even opening his eyes, Ron asked, “Why aren’t I dead?”

“Oh, um. I gave you a bezoar that was in the room.”

Ron smiled sleepily, then, and still not opening his eyes, mumbled a barely decipherable, “Good ol’, Harry. What’d I do without ya?”

The room was silent for a minute. Harry looked down at the form of his sleeping friend. Still pale, but not deathly so. Still not out of the woods yet, but alive.

Just what would he do without his best friend? 

“I don’t know, Ron,” he replied after a long silence. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! For now. When I said updates would be sporadic, I meant it. Sorry, y'all, my motivation levels have been, like, underground. 
> 
> Also, I do have Ron chapters planned out, I promise. I haven't forgotten my boy. 
> 
> Let me know what y'all think!


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